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SONGS FOR THE SORROWING, 



S AT G S 



FOE THE SORROWING. 



By n. N. Lf-- ^ 
^vrm Ajsr iisttrodtjctio?^, 

BY WM. E. WILLIAMS, D.D. 



" Be like the bird, that halting in her flight 
Awhile, on boughs too slight, 

Feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, — 
Knowing that she bath wings." 

Victor Hugo. 



NEW YORK: 
PHINNEY, BLAKEMAN & MASON, 

BUFFALO : BREED, BUTLER, 4 CO. 



186 1. 



7^ \i4t" 



51279 



Entered, according to Act ofCcp.^refS in the year 1SG0, by 

PTIIXNKY, BLAKEMAN & M.VfiON, 

In the Cleili's Ollice for the Southern District of New York. 



Smttit & 'MoDorGAi-, 
Stereoty^'Ers?. 



JA <-f 



COiS 



X:? H'AswH^ 



v^\ 



INTRODUCTION. 

The present volume of poems is the fragmen- 
tary memorial of one gifted and accomplished, 
but taken from her friends and from a widowed 
mother, by what, to the friends and kindred so 
bereaved may have seemed an untimely death. 
She was the only child of the late Stephen Griggs, 
E»q. The father, himself a man of genial temper, 
refined tastes, and Uterary culture, bestowed his 
best endeavors on the education of a daughter 
who repaid parental aflection with the most at- 
tached, filial devotion. A child of early promise, 
her attainments were large and varied. Above all 
either parent felt the need of having the adorn 
ments and graces of earthly culture sustained by, 
and grafted upon, the great truths and controlling 
principles of Christ's blessed gospel. At a very 
early age she gave the evidence of true piety, and 

when between fourteen and fifteen she became a 
1* 



Vi I N T K O I) U C T I O X . 

professed disciple of the Lord Jesus. During a 
summer excursion, spent in part on the sea shore 
of his own native Massachusetts, Mr, Griggs took 
"boat for a days' fishing. Although some of the 
hands were experienced seamen, and in the morn- 
ing there seemed little prospect of aught else than 
a day of fine weather, a storm came on: and none 
returned alive. The boat drifted ashore over- 
turned, and after some few hours' interval, the 
corpse of Mr. Griggs, wearing an expression of the 
most peaceful repose, and hearing little mark of 
the drifting and buifeting to which the waves had 
subjected it, was also cast ashore upon another 
portion of the coast. The day of the excursion 
was by a melancholy coincidence the anniversary 
of his wife's birth. The feelings of the wife and 
child thus sorely and suddenly left alone were 
those of overwhelming desolation, relieved and 
chastened, hoAvever, by their entire trust in the Sa- 
viour, whose gospel the husband and father had long 
and warmly loved, and in whose wise Providence 
they themselves fully confided, even whilst thus 
" slaying them." A glad and kind home was then 
darkened. The sorrow of a daughter, remarkably 



IJiTROBUCTIO:?^. VU 

attached to her father, may be best described in 
the language which she used at the time in her 
diary from whose pages it is now transcribed : 

'■'■ November 4th, 1850. — AVell I am at home 
agam. I liave been home a long time. There is a 
long interval since my last entry and the present, 
and a longer period in my life. I have endured 
the greatest affliction that ever could befall me in 
that space of time. When last I wrote in this 
brief record of daily employments I was happy, 
I had no cares but those I made for myself, no 
reasonable wishes ungratified, and I was sheltered 
frqm every thing evil in the sweet, strong refuge 
of my father's love. Xow how changed. It is 
the same home, the same room, nothing around 
me is altered, but in one fearful day all earth's- 
hopes, peace, enjoyment, protection have left me 
forever. I am fatherless. Bitter, unwelcome 
truth, how gladly would I disbelieve it. The 
trials of past years, and they were neither few nor 
slight, are all swallowed up in this. We bore 
them patiently, cheerfully, because we had hope. 
Now we have none. The grave can not give up 
its trust ; the precious clay will not re\ive at our 



Vjil USTTEODTJCTIOIir. 

bidding ; the dear voice answers not our passionate 
invocations — we are alone. Alone, and oh how 
xinutterably wretched. He used to think I had 
strength of character : I thought I had it myself, 
but it was the strength of the wild vine clinging 
to the strong trunk of its forest pro]), and entwin- 
ing the branches so closely with its tendrils that 
they could not be distinguished the one from the 
other. Such was my strength. He was beautiful, 
and noble, and powerful in his calm self-command, 
and I leaned upon him lovingly. When the de- 
cree went forth that he should be transplanted, if 
it had been done gently, and by degrees, instead 
of suddenly, roughly Avrenching away, Avithout a 
word of warning all that made life desirable, we 
might have borne it better. But such was not 
God's Avill. In the morning the tall tree stood 
without one token of decay, and bore up its feeble 
companions with a strong support, and at night 
the poor ones lay crushed and bleeding, in the 
mire — their prop had been cut down and car- 
ried away. But what is the use of metaphor ? 
The horrible truth, dress it as we may, remains 
the same. My poor mother is a widow and I am 






INTRODUCTIOK. IX 

fatherless. And the mournful remembrance that 
we have no last words. He may haA^e died tri- 
umphantly ; the presence of his Savioirr may have 
so sustained him, that he may have entered with 
rapture into the joy of his Lord ; but we can not 
tell if it were so. He may have died calmly, the 
sober fiith of a life-time not failing him at last ; 
and this the solemnly serene countenance would 
seem to indicate, but we do not know that this 
was the way. Or as the waters cold and dark 
rose about his body, so the colder, darker waters 
of temptation may have risen on his spirit ; the 
tempter may have buffeted him to the last, as he 
has since buffeted us. Agony of regret at leaving 
us alone in a desolate world, may have been his last 
thought. Worldly cares may have pressed their 
disturbing claims upon him ; the effort to escape 
may have absorbed every faculty till he was ex- 
hausted. Death may have come so suddenly that 
all other anxieties were swallowed up in the ur- 
gent needs of his own soul, or by its slow approach 
may have given him time to intercede for and 
exhort those who died with him. All these con- 
jectures by turns occupy us, but over all hangs 



X INTEODUCTION. 

the same dark uncertainty, and this increases our 
trial tenfold. And the last words of some Chris- 
tians have been so precious to survivors as almost 
to take away the jxain of parting. Oh my beloved 
father, why was I not allowed to pillow thy dying- 
head I so fondly loved ; why might I not have gone 
down with thee to the " swellings of Jordan." I 
think of that dear head tossed hither and thither 
by the wild waves and bruised on the rough beach, 
till I am wild myself. Would God I had died with 
thee. But he Avas truly mourned, and not by us 
only. Those who have come to sorrow with us, 
sorrow because they themselves lost a precious 
friend — somebody whom they could trust ; and the 
one testimony from all who knew him is, that he 
is happy, but for us 

' All bright hopes and hues of day- 
Have faded into twilight gray.' " 

After a time Miss Griggs, at the suggestion of 
many friends who knew the ripeness of her judg- 
ment and attamments, and Avho wished to see her 
talents employed in some such manner as Avould 
beguile her sorrow and be also useful to others. 



INTKODUOTION. XI 

applied herself to the preparatiou of a Memoir, 
and the translation of the remains, of Jacqueline 
Pascal, the gifted sister of the great author of the 
Prdvmcial Letters. The volume appeared from 
the press of the Carters in New York, and was 
promptly republished by Nisbet in London. The 
Eclectic Hevleio^ of the latter city, spoke with 
warm and just praise of the freedom and racy 
idiomatic ease of the style, which made it difficult 
to regard the jiarts actually translated from the 
French as being wiitten originally in another lan- 
guage than the English. But Jacqueline Pascal, 
although one of the first martyrs in the struggle 
of Jansenism agamst wily and relentless Jesuit- 
ism, and singularly able and earnest in defending 
the great truths of the gospel for which Jansenism 
bore its witness, was also a staunch Catholic, and 
the inmate of a nunnery, the famed Port Royal 
des Champs, whose discipline was of the strictest 
character. 

The prevalence of the controversy provoked by 
the Oxford Tracts for the Times, had in Britain 
and America made Protestantism unwontedly jea- 
lous of all that seemed in any way to favor any 



XU I N T R O L> U C TI O N . 

school or member of the Ilomisli Church. Many — ■ 
not stopping to learn the real relations of the 
great Jansenist body to the doctrines of grace, and 
their sufferings, heroism, and genius in defense of 
tlie Adtal truths of the gospel, as held in glorious 
succession by Paul, Augustine, and Jansenius, 
no less than by Calvin — shrunk from examining a 
volume that if begun would have mastered their 
sjTnpathies, conquered their prejudices, anU well 
repaid their study. Though valued by those who 
could judge, the book never found, therefore, the 
wide currency that it merited. 

As was known to her friends only, Miss Griggs 
wrote in verse also on the sad calamity that had 
made her home so suddenly desolate. She had 
occasionally indulged and recorded her sorrow in 
lines of various measure, and ■ of unequal literary 
execution. Much of real genius and some rare 
felicities of exj^ression are found in these composi- 
tions. At the wish of relatives and near friends, 
a few copies of these collected verses were printed 
in a volume, entitled " My Father's Knell," exclu- 
sively for private circulation. 

The volume that now makes its appearance has 



INTKODUCTION. XIU 

its own separate history. The health of the Avriter 
fiiiled. The undue application in j^reparing for 
the press her Jacqiiehne Pascal had perliaps aided 
somewhat to exasperate and precipitate her sick- 
ness. She used ti'avel and many systems of treat- 
ment, and endured great physical suiferings in the 
long protracted but unavailing hope of relief from 
the malady that threatened to prison and cripple 
her. It was not the will of God that this sickness 
should be removed. Meanwhile, and in the periods 
often of keeii bodily suifering, she solaced herself 
^y the composition of poetry on various themes 
that presented themselves to the invalid, shut in 
by the walls of the sick room. But strong in 
Christian hope she retained, as her verses show, a 
true and filial grasp on the Faithful and Fatherly 
hand that wielded the rod of chastening, and min- 
gled and proffered the cup of bitter but salutary 
affliction. Her bodily distress was such, that 
those who most valued her could not desire a con- 
tinued stay for her on earth, amid such anguish. 
Favored with reason and speech to the last, she 
took her departure, hopefully and calmly, in the 
reliance on Christ's s:race and faithfulness that had 



XIV INTKODUCTION. 

long blessed her, ou the fourteenth day of Feb- 
ruary, 1860. 

It is believed that the Christian will find much 
in the poetry to win and repay the attention asked 
for. Of more literary finish than her earlier lines, 
it shows glimpses of the same genius, culture, and 
warm afFectionateness, that made her the object 
of true regard to her friends. 

And the mother now sends forth this memorial, 
blessing God for such a child, and for the testi- 
mony which that child gave to the sufficiency and 
immutability of the gospel as a su2:»port in earth's 
heaviest calamities, and to its value in the antici- 
pations it opens of that better world — where the 
friends in Christ now removed, may be one day 
rejoined — where the graces here, at best imperfect, 
shall be seen in their highest symmetry — and 
where Christ shall, by His now assembled people, 
be praised more worthily and be resembled more 
vividly and more entirely. 



CONTENTS, 



Proem 19 

The Loadstone Fort 22 

Saviour, now peacefully the life 25 

It canxa be lanq 28 

The Anointed Eye 30 

Tired Heart, Sleep 30 

Little Carrie 41 

The Orange Tree 45 

COLIGNI AND L'ESTRANQE 4G 

Anything but this 52 

Distance Removed, Darkness Removed 5i 

The Fear of Evil 56 

Here and Hereafter GO 

The Opal Ring G4 

" In Sight op Heaven," , GG 

The Building of the Tj-.mplb, 72 

If all along oUb earthly way 75 



XVI CONTENTS. 

FAGB. 

Buried ix Jeeusalem 77 

" EOSE-AVATER SDRGERY" 83 

Probixg 85 

To A Spiritualist 87 

An Incident 92 

" Appear not unto men to fast" 96 

Ocean Blossoms 99 

Sabbaths at IIomij 102 

They went and told Jesus 106 

" Awake, thou that Sleepest" 109 

The Apostles' Creed 113 

Old Authors 120 

"I Count only the Hours that Siiixe" 124 

"Weeping may endure for a night" 128 

To THE Subterranean River 129 

The River's Response 1 :-;2 

The Bottomless Pit 135 

Cradle Singing 137 

Divine Service 143 

Dissonance 145 

Heart, well nigh Home ! 147 

The Christian's Chain 149 

"Like Hni, fob we shall see Him as He is" 153 



CONTENTS. Xvii 

, PAGE 

Legend of St. Cueistopher 156 

TuE Raixbow ox the Railway ] 73 

Suspense 17G 

The Lesson of Gideon 179 

Rachel, Lady Russell 1,S2 

Parting 188 

"Except the Lord build the house" 101 

Thomas Fuller on Pins 105 

Second Causes 108 

The Butterfly 201 

Sans Peur et sans Reprochr 205 

Homelessness 208 

*' We know not what we shall be" 212 

Sorrow and Consolation 2 i 5 

Spring Violets 218 

" Deal Gently with thy Servant" 221 

The Lonely Christmas 225 

Shadows and Sunshine 227 

In the City of Refuge 230 

Another Grief 233 

Our Broken Yine 237 

Unclothed 2 iO 

Clothed Upon 2i3 



XVIU CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A Garden TaouGifT 246 

IIavelock at Alu-muagh - 248 

River Burial ■ , 253 

iconoclasm 256 

Neyer prat for Trials 259 

The Starless Crown 2G2 

Anchored, tet weary 266 

Prayer of one no longer prayed for 2G8 

Count Louis op Nassau 272 

" I will give him the Morning Star" 276 

By the Brink op the River 279 

L'Enyoi 283 



PROEM. 



One, of her only son bereft, 
Herself a widow, to the wave 

Whose mad up-rising joyless left 
Her life, an offering gave — 

Lest there, with anguish like her own, 
Might mother's heart again he wrung, 

From shore to shore a bridge of stone 
With shielding rail she hung. 

O'er sorrow's channel, broad and dark. 
We seek to fling no feeble span ; 

There, long ago, a stately arc 
Rose without toil of man. 



90 PROEM. 

Ko flood its piles may undei-mine, 
Nor furious gale the arclies move 

Upheld in peace on piers divine, 
Their keystone — " God is Love." 



And they whose feet the bridge have v/on 
Securely, view the stream obey 

That curb of power, till, fret-work done, 
It falls in sun-lit sj^ray. 

But ours too oft have strayed af;ir. 

And sunk in depths of gloom and mire, 

While following long, for beacon-star, 
Some ray of marsh-born fire. 

Now in meek penance would we plant 
Way-marks for pilgrim hearts to find, 

When through morass or wood, in w.mt 
And weariness they wind ; 



P K O E M. 21 

"With Song's clear lantern would enclose 
Some thoughts whose glow-worm light, 
in hours 

Of pain, to yon sure Bridge of Woes, 
Has gently guided ours. 



THE LOADSTONE FOET 



[An old Hindoo tradition tells of such a fort among the 
mountain ranges of India, which drew to itself the weapons 
of all assailants, and was, of course, impregnable.] 

A RE liostile feet in liusli of midnight falling 

On the hiish'd snows of Himalayan hills, 
Bound for the Loadstone Fort ? No bugle's 
calling 
Wakes inmate ere he wills. 

And foes may steal unnotic'd near the trenches, 
Or with bold front in banner'd force deploy. 
While each in ireful hold his falchion clenches, 
And wields with warrior's joy. 



THE L O A I) S T O X E F O K T . 23 

Yet from tall tower no eye of cliieftain gazes 

To scan the coming of a long-fear'd harm, — 
No wild alarm the sick or weary dazes ; 
Each bastion hath a charm. 

And while through loadstone walls that For- 
tress draweth 
The keenest missile to its own calm side, 
Vainly the war-hail flies. — No legion aweth 
Him to its Lord allied. 

Scarce is a foe beheld his sword unsheathing, 

Ere sword and scabbard to the walls are flown; 
Shield, helm and harness, in bright circles 
wreathing 
Like garlands, there have grown. 

Thou art my Fortress, Lord ! When evils 
hound me 
In horrid chase along Life's mountain gorge, 



24 THE LOADSTONK FORT. 

Ouce in Thy Presence, harmlessly around me, 
Falls steel from Hell's red forge. 

Then liold me near Thee ! Through serene 
attraction 
Vim Thou the arrows from my sin-pierc'd 
soul ; 
And powers, long thrall'd by Self in rebel fac- 
tion, 
Within Thy force enroll ! 

Til us, tho' the outworks where I lean are lying 

In a low valley, near a brackish well, 
The same fair banner overhead is flying 
As from the Citadel ; 

And I can wait, until the clouds that trammel 

Mine upward view, melt silently away — ■ 
Till Heaven's full Sun my glorious Fort enamel 
With blazonry of Day ! 



SAVIOUE ! HOW PEACEFULLY 
THE LIFE. 



Saviour ! how peacefully the life, 
Now with regretful murmurs rife, 

Would drop its noiseless sands, 
Could we but feel each tiny grain, 
Each moment fraught with joy or pain, 

Was measur'd through Thy hands. 

For Thou art loving ! Thou art wise ! 
No fringe from Thy far-seeing eyes 

Can shut out land or sea. 
Thy power, Thy love inlacing thus- 
Dark though the future seem to us, 

It is not dark to Thee ! 

2 



26 saviouk: 

We do not wish Life's folded woof 
Held from Thy rightful touch aloof, — 

Are glad its rule is Thine ; 
Yet often faith in fear will shrink 
Trom shape uncouth, sad hue, and think 

To change some lesser line. 

A day all sunshine and soft air, 
A life unshadow'd by one care, 

To our dull vision look 
More suited for the hearts we prize, 
As wings whereon their praise may rise ; 

Than chastening hard to brook. 

But Thy calm love. Oh wiser Lord, 
Thro' clouds where heaviest rain is stored, 

Can freshest verdure bring, 
And bid the storms that rack our globe 
Swathe in a snow-soft ermine robe 

The Eoyal Infant — -Spring. 



HOW PEACEFULLY THE LIFE. 21 

Then with each blackening tempest-shade, 
Let Thy felt love a glory braid 1 

Type of the bliss we know 
Awaits Thy chosen, when at last 
True light shall stream on trials past, 

From stainless Emerald Bow ! 



IT CANNA BE LANG. 



On a calm summer eve was the bridal 
Of one who had suffered so long, 

That fond gratulation seemed idle, 
The gladness it prophesied, wrong. 

She had learn'd how life's pleasures were fleeting 
As pearls which on rose-petals hang ; 

And gently replied to our greeting, 

" Aweel, it canna be lang." 

How sad, when young pulses are bounding 
In valleys where sweet waters well, 

To hear the gay saraband rounding 
So soon, in a sorrowful knell ! 

Oh coffin of feasting Egyptian ! 

Through garlands, through dulcimer's clang, 

Still pierceth thy pallid inscription — 

" Aweel, it canna be lang \" 



IT CANNA BE LANG. 29 

Tet it comes like a tender evangel, 
A love-breeze, borne over Earth's deep 

In the bosom of pitying angel, 
To those who in solitude weep. 

Though each mom bring thy longings denial ; 
Each twilight add pang unto pang ; 

Till the final cloud fall on thy dial — 

" Aweel, it canna be lang \" 

Ala. 1 the road whereon saint and apostle 
Once wandered, hath loiterers yet ; 

Shall we murmur, if enemies jostle. 
If snares by its hedges are set ? 

Shall we faint at each fresh contradiction ? 
Nay ! sing, as of old, men sang, 

While flame-rings sealed fast the conviction,* 
" Aweel, it canna be lang I" 

* " Be the day weary, or be the day long, 
At length it ringeth to even-song, " 
was a favorite distich with the English Reformers in the 
Marian persecution. 

2* 



THE ANOINTED EYE. 



The fairies watched her pretty ways thoughout 

the livelong day, 
And then with gifts and glozing talk they 

lured the child away ; 
They lured her from the orchard-slope, a-down 

the green hill-side, 
From the cottage where her mother dwelt, her 

bahy-sister died. 

Their carved corals clasped her arm, and Alice 

grew content 
To count the spots on elfin wings, and follow 

where they went ; 



THE ANOINTED EYE. 31 

To feel herself the pet and pride of all that 

laughing train, 
Unweeting how her brothers wept to have her 

Lack again. 



And guileful hands bade sleep's soft dew upon 

her eyes distil, 
She slept, and wakening, lo ! her couch lay far 

within the hill ; 
And daisy-chain, and cowslip-ball, at morning 

thought so fine, 
Looked colorless by rainbow, gems full flashing 

through the mine. 



Then sang they — " Choose, fair Alice, wreath 

of jewels if you list, 
'* Your dark-blue eyes are lovelier than yonder 

amethyst— 



32 THE ANOINTED EYE. 

" Slight value now hath topaz ray, or ruby's 

crimson sheen, 
"While we can kiss your rosy cheek, and 

claim you for our queen." 



And long among those elfin hills the simple 

Alice dwelt 
In pleasure, pomp, and revelry, the lapse of 

time unfelt. 
Until one night the fairies said — " To-morrow, 

all alone 
"Must we leave our darling mistress, on a 

mission of our own." 



Though bright new toys lay round her, ere the 

troop would ride away. 
It was a wistful watcher viewed their festival 

array ; 



THE AKOIKTED EYE. 33 

And when with, salve from casket brought 

must all their eyelids touch, 
What meaning in the spell could lie, fair Alice 

wondered much. 



Soon disappeared with farewell smiles the 

meiTy cavalcade. 
While Alice felt, despite her toys and jewels, 

half afraid, 
Before an hour was spent she sighed — " It 

surely must be noon ;" 
When noon arrived, " How lightly now they 

dance beneath the moon/' 



" Where are my playmates wandering ? ah ! 

did I only know, 
** Doubtless I too could follow, and behold 

some rarest show." 



34 THE ANOINTED EYE. 

Then on the casket fell her eye, and soon a 

shout of glee 
Told her espial of the nook where gleamed its 

polished key. 



One moment ere the fastening yields — another 

— and her eye 
Hath met the magic ointment. With a sudden, 

sorrowing cry, 
Poor Alice gazed around her on a cavern cold 

and bare 
Of all save leaves and lichens grey, that imaged 

her despair. 



Where gold-inwoven tapestries waved gorge- 
ously at morn, 

Hung only shattered spider-webs and pensile 
moss forlorn ; 



THB ANOIKTED EYE. 35 

She longedj yet trembled for the sound of 

footsteps coming back, 
And when they came, rich robe and plume all 

radiance seemed to lack. 



Those graceful forms had hollow grown, more 

hollow still their laugh. 
The luscious wine they offered her she did not 

care to quaff ; 
And saying, " I am weary," soon they fancied 

Alice slept, 
But all the while with folded eyes, sad Alice 

lay and wept. 



And long-forgotten sounds once more in 

dreamy swell uprose, 
Sweet snatches of her cradle songs, prayers 

heard at Sabbath close ; 



36 THE ANOINTED EYE. 

She started up, the fays were gone, and in the 

distance far 
A soft, faint light came struggling through 

some fissure, like a star. 



Toward that far gleam then groping on with 

all her slender strength, 
Behold it waxing broader, ever broader, till at 

length 
Deep down within the opening a flood of glory 

rolled — 
And the Summer was before her in its garb of 

green and gold. 



Fast paled her elfin livery before that vision 

rare — 
And when could elfin lullaby with voice of 

home compare ? 



THE ANOINTED EYE. 37 

Safe in her old meek place of rest, she dwells 

by mother's knee : 
None Alice thence shall ever wile with fraud- 

ful gem or plea. 



Lord ! if thine anointing Love have shown 
our souls how bare 

Of truest joy are Earth's delights, her pa- 
geantry and glare — 

If from Thy holy heaven of Light a single 
guiding ray 

Through ice-rift of the glacier— Self — have 
forced its reinless way. 



Still may Thy mercy lead us on, still with 

Thy strength infuse 
The feeble faith that else would sink at mo- 
mentary bruise — 



38 THE ANOINTED EYE. 

Till, dwelling in Thy Sun-light, joyous angel- 
welcomes ring 

To hail us safe and satisfied, before Thee, 
our King 1 



TIKED HEAET, SLEEP, 



TiKED Heart, sleep ! 
Sleep on quiet pillow ! 

Though around thee leap 
Foam of wind-lashed billow, 
Safe as in calm nook, 

Which fair Summer ruleth, 
Sleep ! thy Saviour's look 

Cloud and rough wind schooleth. 

Tired Heart, sleep ! 
Tired of wistful grieving — 

Grieve no more, nor keep 
Watch o'er waves thou 'rt leaving 1 
Let the night-glooms rise. 

Dark as wing of raven, 



40 TIEED HEART, SLEEp! 

For thy pinnace flies 
Fast toward blissful haven. 

Tired Heart, sleep ! 
All Earth's woe is wafted 

Soon away, while deep 
Are thy joys engrafted 
In a Saviour's cross — 

Starred with light unwaning 
Eoot, whence pain and loss 

Win immortal gaining I 

Tired Heart, sleep I 
Till thy Lord's hand, closing 

Eyes long prone to weep, 
End, too, thy reposing : 
Then awake and sing ! 

Where Life's glorious river- 
Fed from love's full spring-^ 

Tires no more for ever I 



LITTLE CAERIE 



A mothee's talk. 



Snow-drifts like sentinels were filed 
Against the chamber where my child 
Slept in the hush they made, and smiled. 

My Carrie ! fair as wreath of snow— 
Her cheeks with sunrise flush aglow — ■ 
Her hair like sunset's amber flow. 

Ah ! well I know that love is kind, 

And will, in homeliest features find 

Charms to which common eyes are blind : 
3* 



42 LITTLE CABBIE. 

But ever, where my Carrie went, 
Looks on her loveliness were bent. 
Which said, " Beware ! the child is lent : 

" Nay, clasp her not with such delight. 
For angels' hold on earth is slight, 
And she will seek the land of light \" 

Some infant smiles like sunbeams stray ; 
Hers in our dwelling old and gray. 
Shone more like moonlight's mellow ray. 

For thoughtful seemed her eyes' deep blue, 
As though their mute child- wisdom knew 
Of much beyond our mortal view ; 

Yet soon again some baby-wile. 
Or dimpling of her roguish smile. 
Would fondest mother-fearg" beguile. 



LITTLE CARRIE. 43 

Thus eighteen months had slipped away, 
When Carrie climbedj one summer day, 
To ivory keys, and feigned to play. 

The waxen fingers woke faint clang ; 
But like a lark's her clear voice rang — 
I stopped and marvelled while she sang ; 

Then left her on some brief employ — 
Sweet croon of welcome ! with what joy 
It told my absence gave annoy. 

That night she sickened. Short the space, 
I held her in my sad embrace, 
Watching the languors on her face. 

Before a change came o'er her mien ; 
Her look grew saint-like and serene, 
Toward bitter cup turned gentle e'en — 



^4 LITTLE CAEEIE. 

Small finger pointed— pale lips tried 
To drink in vain — and to my side 
More closely nestling, Carrie died. 

That voice of music filled mine ears, 
I clasped her close in dreams for years, 
At day-dawn missed her, blind with tears : 

But now those faithless tears are dried ; 
Here at my calling could she glide. 
I would not call her to my side. 

From vision of her Saviour-King, 

From blisses past imagining, 

Dare love like mine its dear one bring 

Where sin might soil my snow-wreath fair^ 
Her clear voice moan in Earth's despair ? — 
Ah no ! I would we all were there I 



THE ORANGE-TREE 

"Le Fruit ne fait pas tomber la fleur." 



No rf-ork of grace will ripen, some have said, 

With bloom unshed ; 
All fair young petals lose, in Summer's glow, 

Their spotless snow ; 
And holy fervors thus through trial thin 

Ere fruits begin. 

But make my life, Lord, an orange-tree. 

Thick hung for thee. 
With golden deeds of mercy by whose side 

Meek prayers abide ; 
Thus yielding to Thy glory, every hour, 

Love's fruit and flower. 



COLIGNI AND L'ESTRANGE. 



AN INCIDENT IN THE WAKS OF THE REFORMATION. 



Borne away from battle surges 

Where white crests of kinsfolk meet — 
While around despairing dirges 

Moan for Moncontour's defeat, 
Throbs the heart at sunrise eager 

France with brave right arms to free 
From proud hoof of Priest and Leaguer, 

Spurred and reined by Holy See : 
And while sunset slowly dies, 
That dear hope in death-shroud lies 
Stark before his wearied eyes. 



COLIGNI AND l'eSTRANGE. 47 

Through the day when steel clashed madly 

Was Coligni's helmet seen, 
If the van-guard wavered, gladly 

Pressing where their place had been : 
Now a closely-curtained litter 

Veils from all the warrior's frame, 
Smart of wounds, though keen, less bitter 

Than his sense of grief, and shame, 
Heaping fast on burning brain. 

Fuel, memories of pain, 

Prayers and toilings spent in vain. 

Foes who long his Faith have slandered ; 

Comrades recreant to their God ; 
Worse, far worse, the Holy Standard 

Now by heel of scoffers trod ; 
Each sad thought through wan cheek tingling 

With a sudden fever-glow, 
Till the poisoned waves commingling 

Bid Faith's chalice overflow — 



48 COLIGNI AND l'eSTRANGE, 

Thus while powers of darkness reign 
Better had the brave heart lain 
Cold among yon piles of slain ! 

And perchance the soul reflective 

In that hour of gloom might peer 
Onward till in dim perspective 

It discerned a darker year, 
When with band of butchers gory 

Guise at dead of night u})rose — 
When Coligni's head, grown hoary, 

Bowed beneath assassin's blows — 
Eoyal feastings, bridal ring, 
Naught but snares of hell to bring 
Birds to slaughter, else a-wing. 

Twilight fell o'er wold and meadow — 
Dawn upheld her shield of flame — 

Only dreams of heavier shadow 
Eound the imprisoned warrior came, 



COLIGNI AND l' EST RANGE. 49 

Till a hand its veil unfolding, 

Tramp of spearmen toward liis cell 

Bore another litter holding 

Frame and spirit pained as well ; 

Yet he welcomed not his friend, 

Comfort there was none to lend ; 

Coward plainings served no end. 



Soon L'Esti-ange's sight grew dimmer 

Watching the beloved brow ; 
Fain would Love with moonlight shimmer 

That grief-furrowed lake endow. 
" Yet is God sweet consolation" 

Fell at length from quivering lip ; 
Then he turned in agitation 

Stifling sobs that else would slip 

Strongest leash of manly pride, 

Bound all agonies to hide 

From the soldiers ranged beside. 
5 



60 COLIGNI AND l'eSTEANGB. 

Long, with face in pillow buried, 

Long and slowly wept L'Estrange, 
Weeping, while his whisper hurried 

Brought Coligni blissful change. 
Swift as breath of summer sounding 

Thrills through gloomiest grove of pine- 
Joyful thoughts, of God's abounding 

Strength and succour, sped like wine 
Through the wounded leader's veins ; 
Taught him tears and toil and pains, 
Harm not whom the Lord sustains. 

Voice of holiest pastor never 

(Said he oft in after-days) 
Could his soul to brave endeavor 

Stir like those fond words and gaze. 
Sown in tears, the flower sprang faster, 

Though by sower soon forgot. 
Blooming long, an autumn aster, 

Whose mild beauty altered not 



COLIGNI AND L'ESTRAISTGE. 51 



Till that fateful midnight frown, 
When a mangled corpse fell down, 
And the Martyr won his crown ! 



ANYTHING BUT THIS. 



" Some other sorrow ! Lord/' I cried, 
" Thine arsenal of woe is wide ; 
Lift from its gleaming rows 
Some blunter weapon ! Pain, disease, 
And death are powerless till Thou please — 
All grief Thine impress knows. 

" Well may my spirit faint with fear : 
This blessing lost — and earth lies drear : 

Take not my only joy ! 
Think on past years of mournful pain ; 
Oh let Thy love, with genial rain, 

Eevive, and not destroy \" 



ANYTHING BUT THIS. 53 

From cloud-pavilions answer came : 
" Shall sinful man his Saviour blame ? 

Wilt thou, vine so frail ! 
Choose where the knife shall prune away 
Tendrils that on thy life-sap prey, 

And make thy clusters fail ? 

" The closeness of thy twining grasp 
Proves but the need of surly rasp, 

Of wrenching swift and strong, 
To move away that precious thing. 
The trellis where thy love-shoots cling : ' 

Nor can the doom be wrong. 

" This is thine idol. Fearful heart, 
Christ reigns alone. If His thou art, 

Know, He will surely trim 
Each vagrant love away, yet give 
Strength by His own true word to live- 
To lean on none but Him !" 
5* 



DISTANCE EEMOVED.— DAEKNESS 
EEMOVED. 

St. John, xvii. v. 24. 



Through ages hearts have stirr'd 
With changeful thoughts of Heaven,- 

With woof of sign and gorgeous word. 
To en weave its splendors striven. 

As when from altar-panes 

One light, in parting prism 
Of vermeil green, and violet stains. 

Streams down on royal chrism ; 

Each varying hue of bliss 

Through the mind's oriel thrown, 
Seems but a pencil, born of this, 

"All gloom — all distance gone I" 



DISTANCE REMOVED, ETC. 55 

Let aliens dream how briglit, 
Were thoroughfares of gold — 

The saint's eye craves alone for light, 
Thy glory to hehold. 

And where, Christ ! Thou art, 

Thy chosen long to be : 
That far land draws the faithful heart 

With but one Magnet— Thee ! 



THE FEAR OF EVIL. 



" Quiet from fear of evil."— Pi!OV. i. 33. 

'Afraid, because of tlie sword of the angel of the Lord." 

1 Chron. xxi. 30. 



Ceushed as by cairn of sorrows, Lord, I lie ; 
Nor would I murmur at Thy faultless will, 
But sad thoughts lodge within me, and they fly 
Aloft like chaff, though I would hold them 
still. 
Ah ! were they golden wheat, 
Thy winnowing fan to meet. 
In trustful quiet, need I fear no ill. 



The fear of evil ! 'Tis an evil thing — 

For in Thy presence, that all-shadowing 
Tree— 



THE FEAR OF EVIL. 57 

The heart should build her nest, and, bu'd-like, 
sing, 
Leaving the morrow's care, a charge for 
Thee ; 
Not quail, as lonely hare 
Sinks down, in sombre lair, 
Hearing far bugles, though the woods are free. 

He who on couch of anguish long hath lain, 

Winces in presage of the coming blast. 
And feels in every pulse some herald-pain. 
Ere yet one cloud the blue air overcast. 
My soul, too, quick of nerve, 
Will even in sunshine swerve 
When change impendeth, shrinking back 
aghast. 

Often, if grief hath come, I tremble less, 

Worse the foreboding than the woe, when 
here, 



f 

58 THE FEAK OT EVIL. 

And ere it passes, oft with half-caress, 
I would detain it, lest some other fear, 
Through yet undarkened place, 
View, in funereal pace, 
New mourners come and go, like Highland 
seer. 

So, in old pictures have I marked the fiend 
Lifting from coil of gloom a look askance 
Toward bright archangel who above him leaned, 
And brandished near his brow puissant 
lance. 

As though the dusky shape 
Sought vainly to escape 
Keen blade of vengeance, and far keener 
glance. 

Ah ! give me. Lord, a willingness to be 

Made through much suffering to thy saints 
akin. 



TH^ FEAE OF EVIL. 59 

Give faith above all menaced blows to see 
Hands of Thine angels wield the javelin, 
To know, when sorrow near 
Hangs poised, with flashing spear, 
What writhes within me is the Demon — Sin ! 



HERE AND HEEEAFTER. 



My life is a sluggish river, 

Winding its dull career 
Through flats whereon north winds shiver, 

In the desolate region— Heee. 

Once it flashed forth like a torrent, 

Lavish of diamond spray — 
Passed where dark boulders horrent 
Shielded its sinuous way— 

And thence through an outlet of Sorrow, 

In stupor and silence it came 
Where To-day is the type of To-morrow, 

And all its gay flashes are tame. 



IIEEE AND HEEBAFTER. 61 

Far down in the channel are steeping 

Ashes of hopes long dead, 
As the wild Goth warrior sleeping 

In his slave-river's bed. 

Faintly heaven's sunlight above me 

Falls on miasma of fears, — 
Friends who most tenderly love me 

Give me small solace save tears. 

But from the fair realms — Hereafter, 

Sorrow and sighing flee ! 
Sobs are unechoed by rafter 

Of dwellings through grace made free I 

None grieve o'er a love too shallow 
To quiet the soul's deep thirst— 

For the fullness of God will hallow 
Their bliss, who have loved Him first. 



62 HERE AND HEREAFTEE. 

None pause by a sweet rose-thicket, 
Whose pathways green mosses pave ; 

To weep because close-barred wicket 
Defends it, or worse — a grave. 

None grieve over a long-sought treasure 
Through seeking, sullied and torn ; 

For the lilies of sinless pleasure 
Grow not in hedges of thorn. 

Fade then, ye love-lights ! spangling 
Time with your peaceful ray ; 

Break, fond earth-meshes ! entangling 
Hearts from their heavenward way. 

Seems cry of the night-owl dreary ? 

Dawn Cometh to lift the cloud, 
Then for watchers no longer weary 

AVill song of the lark be loud. 



HERE AND HEREAFTER. 63 

Of the lark ! — To the soul far sweeter 

Than ever morn-music rose, 
Shall the welcome of Jesus greet her, 

Escaping from Sin's last woes. 



THE OPAL EIITG. 



An opal's fire-in-snow 

Gleams on a young girFs hand, 
While gentle whispers show 

A charm in the golden band. 

Kot alone that a faery spell 
Will shiver the radiant stone, 

When its fading sparkles tell 
Of a fond love faithless grown. 

For words in the gift are shrined 
From a royal Psalmist's scroll, 

And the jeweled ring is lined 
With a jewel for her soul. 



TUB OPAL EING. 65 

Awhile the maiden kept 

That charm unbroken — Then 

O'er the shattered opal wept, 
And the shattered faith of men. 

Gone were the glow and sheen 

Of giver and of gem — 
But the golden light serene 

Of the psalm — went not with them. 



IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. 

A Pioneer Missionarj'', who was found frozen to death on the bank 
of one of the Western Elvers which he had just succeeded in crossing, 
held in his hand a paper, and on it were feebly penciled the words " in 
sight of heaven." 



TRiUMPH-glance of Pilot, first in view of 

broad New World ! 
Flag, by weak hands waved aloft, and held 

in death unfurled ! 
Pale blossoms are ye, born of Earth, to die by 

March-winds driven, 
Beside this autumn-fruit of Faith, that glows 

" in sight of heaven." 



^ts'^ 



Yet Earth has had her conquerors, and prince 

and peasant name 
Entwine in gorgeous blazonry along the scroll 

of Fame, 



IN SIGHT OF UKAVBN. G7 

And glorious memories are embalmed among 

her priceless things — 
Of warriors brave and rulers wise, true poets, 

patriot-kings. 



But this man more than conqueror through 

might of love became, 
To bear through frontier-wilds the Cross with 

loyal hand his aim ; 
And never yet hath minstrel heart, by love or 

sorrow riven. 
Indited loftier line than this last shout " in 

sight of heaven." 



Not over pleasant garden-paths, or prairies 

green and gay 
Yv^ith tm-f and flowers upspringing fast, God's 

herald took his way ; 



68 IN SIGHT OP HEAVEN. 

Nor was he cheered by kindly voice, compan- 
ionship and smile, 

Sent forth to thread the wilderness where silent 
Indians file. 



He lay not on a peaceful couch, within a quiet 
room. 

While friends and kindred paved with love his 
passage to the tomb ; 

No brother came to bid him place his confi- 
dence on high ; 

No worldling gazed with awe-filled mien " to 
- see a Christian die." 



But in the gloom of forest- ways by fleet hoof 

seldom trod 
The lone man faced his foe, alone, and sank on 

stranger-sod : 



IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. 69 

He had forded one wide river, it was dark, 

and deep, and cold ; 
Another and a mightier across his pathway 

rolled. 



Alone ? ah no ! for angel-friends around him 

came and stood 
To watch that calm death-duel fought beneath 

the leafless wood ; 
To see those stiffening fingers their triumphant 

record trace 
And the martyr-light of gladness pierce 

through pallor of his face. 



Alone ? ah no ! in closer grasp than mother's 

fondest hold, 
The Lord of Life and Death received that soul 

to bliss untold. 



70 IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. 

There was no need of human help when Christ 

could ease the chill, 
And gently touch the throbbing breast, and 

bid the pulse be still. 



Bright is the sunset splendor thrown from 

many a dying bed, 
And eloquent the influence of all the saintly 

dead — 
Far down the turbid waves of Time those rays 

will burn and beam, 
As lighted pinnace launched by night on 

Oriental stream. 



Sea-curtains veil the sleep of some, and graves 

on heathen strand 
Will hear as soon the trump of God as graves 

in Father-land. 



IN SIGHT OF HEAVEN. Il 

Yet dwell the parting words of none more 

sweetly on mine ear 
Than the death-sign made in silence by this 

lonely Pioneer. 



And thus, oh slothful heart of mine ! if thou 

wert also found 
Dauntless in labor for thy Lord, though drear- 

ness abound — 
Linked to His heart with bands of love, by 

death or life unriven, 
Thou too wouldst wait for dying grace, and 

live " in sisrht of heaven." 



THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. 

1 Kings, chap, vi., v. 7. 



Silence ! the Fane of Jehovah is rising, 
Calm in its splendor, each stone like a gem : 

Silence ! no hammer may fall, advertising 
All the long labor on Earth's Diadem. 

Softly, yet swiftly, unmarred by one hap-stone, 
Springs the tall fabric, till cedar and gold 

Wind o'er its sm-face from corner to cap-stone, 
Mirror the sunlight in every fair fold. 

Walls ! in your glory and fragrance so gentle, 
Skill of slave- Afreet, through amulet sou<!fht 



THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. ^3 

Doubtless in sea-cave, liath carved you as rental, 
Winning brief freedom, for Solomon wrought. 

Nay. By long patience the marbles were quar- 
ried, 
Each with a mallet no veinings might foil ; 
Stroke fell on stroke, to their home until car- 
ried. 
Perfect at last through the magic of Toil. 

Thus while our King this true Temple is rear- 

Silence enslirouds it. In chambers ajjart 

Sorrow and Pain with keen chisel are clearing 

Each for fit lodgment some desolate heart. 

What if that heart, full of grief and self-loath- 

Lie 'neath their shaping in darkness and 
dread, 



74 THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. 

Gladness awaiteth it ; cedary clothing, 
GKmmer of gold shall its form overspread. 

Yea, though we see not the glory now working. 
Soon shall God's temple shine forth in its 
strength ; 
Shrink not from touch of the chisel, lest shirk- 
ing 
Pain, thou lose also the brightness at length. 



IF ALL ALONG OUR EARTHLY WAY. 



If all along our earthly way, 
No warmth or brightness fell, 

But Grief kept with us day by day, 
From morn to midnight bell — 

And yet at last the dawning light 

Of Heaven's full splendor fringed Earth's 
night,— 

Who could say aught of cross or blight 
Save — " All was ordered weU ?" 

But now, though every mournful year 
Seem strewn wdth loss and pain, 

As woodland walk when leaves lie sere, 
Yet hath it herbs of gain — 



76 IF ALLALONG, ETC. 

Like evergreens to front the gale 
Eise Faith, and Hope, and on the trail 
Eed foot-prints of our Lord we hail — 
Each mile makes less remain. 

No needless giief lies in His plan — ■ 
No wanton prick of thorn ; 

He was on earth a sorrowing Man, 
By toil and travel worn. 

Up ! laggard heart — and praises lift — 

True good from seeming evil sift ; 

Ijife hath no storm, nor blinding drift, 
But with Him may he borne 1 



BUKIED IN JEKUSALEM. 

The only son of a wealthy Catholic family, left motherless while an 
infant, was educated, tosether with a sister but one year older, in rigid 
adherence to the Eoman faith. Yet even in early childhood, he refused 
to repeat the Paternosters often enjoined as a penance, and would ask, 
"What is the use of my saying those words over when I don't want 
to? God will not hear me, I'm sure. It is not prayer, unless I really 
want to pray." And rather than yield, he would patiently bear soli- 
tude, with bread and water. 

When about twelve he was placed in a Jesuit school, more than two 
hundred miles distant from his home. Quickly disjrusted with its cus- 
toms, he contrived, with equal ingenuity and daring, to escape, and 
made his way afoot to his father, who, .altliough desirous for these chil- 
dren to be trained into good Catholics, was himself but a lax one. Re- 
monstrance from him, threats from other relatives, and the cajolery of 
his frightened teachers, were alike vain. Go back the boy would not. 
"If you insist on my going, papa," said he, "I shall have to run 
away again; only instead of coming to you, I must go to some place 
where no Jesuit can hunt me out, and you will never see me ag.ain. 
They talk smoothly enough to j'ou, and promise fairlj' ; but if you 
knew as much as I do about their deceitful wa3's, you would sooner 
kill me than let one of them come near me." The father wisely yielded. 
The son grew up under happier influences — a young man of great 
promise, and of most winning disposition. Just as he had, with a 
tutor, made the tour of Europe, and was expected home, where every 
preparation to celebrate his coming of age had been completed, he died 
in the Holy Land, of fever, and w.as burled in Jerusalem. The shock 
to bis sister was so severe, that she went at once into a convent. 



Home rejoicings all are ready, 
Planned for welcome of the heir, 



V8 BURIED IN JEKUSALEM. 

(And hilarious voices eddy 

Througli the cool soft English air,) 
Home from Tyrian 
Sands, and Syrian 
Fatal noon-shafts smiting now 
On his broad, ingenuous brow. 

How will joy the brown cheek dim23l?, 
Gladness flash from bright blue eyes, 
While for Eastern veil and wimple, 
Smile of sister he descries ! 
When hath newer 
Love been truer 
Than the sister's and the brother's 
Who have never known a mother's ? 

Ah ! wliile her fond eyes are holding 
Lengthened vigils to devise 

Warmth of welcome, his are folding 
Calmly, 'neath Judean skies : 



BURIED IN JERUSALEM. 79 

There they laid him — 

None could aid him — • 
None the cruel death- wave stem : 
Burying in Jerusalem. 

And the sunlight is as jjleasant • 

On sea-path of hurrying keel, 
As the wish of guest and peasant 
Would on festal morning feel ; 
News for wailins; 
Unavailing 
Though her swift sails waft to them, 
" Buried in Jerusalem." 

And they weep,— but woe far deeper 

Dashes with each gasping breath 
O'er her soul, who for the sleeper 

Watch'd with love more strong than death. 
Doubt assails her. 
Faith nigh fails her, 



80 BURIED IN JERUSALEM. 

Maddening fears his future hem — 
" Buried in Jerusalem." 

Large her love, her judgment weakly, 

While the jiriesthood's will was strong ; 
And she bowed o'er missal meekly, 
Trained in self- negation long ; 
Heavenward sending 
Prayers unending 
For her heart's one priceless gem, 
" Buried in Jerusalem." 

Are we sure his youthful lightness 
Cared not for a Saviour's love ? 
Must Earth's bloom keep^out the brightness 
Of Jerusalem above ? 

Mirth's sweet laughing 
Mar the engraffing 
Of Heaven's fruit on that frail stem, 
'* Buried in Jerusalem .?" 



BURIED IK JEEUSALEK. 81 

Trutliful lips that would not mutter 

For a penance, unfelt prayer, 
Learned they not the truths which flutter 
Even yet in Syrian air ? 
Did he wander 
There, nor ponder 
On the Plant of Bethlehem 
" Buried in Jerusalem ?" 

Could that fiery heart, escaping 

Early from the Jesuit's rein, 
Loathing every lie-fraught aping 
Of God's service, sought for gain — 
So have dwindled 
That it kindled 
Naught, save embers of dull phlegm, 
Gazing on Jerusalem ? 

Nay ! the Holy Land is haunted 
Still hy presence of the Lord ; 



82 BURIED IN JERUSALEM. 

Birds through whom He taught have chanted 
His pure lessons while they soared ; 
Palmers dying 
Traced their flying — 
Worshipped One who rose, like them. 
Sky-ward from Jerusalem. 

Thus, in loving Hands we leave him, 

Hands that — wiser far than we— 
Longed a deathless crown to weave him, 
And from death-nails would not flee : 
Hands whose Mightful 
Rule is rightful — 
His, who came not to condemn !-— 
" Buried in Jerusalem," 



"EOSE- WATER SURGERY." 



*' Great furnace for great faith." So spake my 
friends, 
When surging flames of trial round me 

rose : 
" God hath especial jewels, and on those 
"He would make brightest, longest toil ex- 
pends" — 
And, " Sorrow's fihng clearer luster lends 

" To the true diamond; with each rasping 

grows 
"Her power of flashing back prismatic 
glows"— 
Ah loving words ! which soul more loving sends 



84 "rose-water surgery." 

To cheer the mourner. B ut my spirit sank 
Within me while I heard them. Conscience 
knew 
My patient smiling veiled a will that 

shrank 
In vain impatience from the cup I drank. 
Yon high consolings suit a saintly few 
Made meet for Heaven. Of me they are not 
true I 



P E B I N a . 



Much had I pondered o'er the intricate way 
Whereby I travelled, deeming one so weak 
More needed velvet sward and runnels meek 
Than crag and torrent, till I chanced one day 
On a wise man's experience, wont to say 

" Not always do deep battle-scars bespeak 
"The warriors who for Heaven's high 
laurels seek ; 
" Often in forefront of the hottest fray 

" God seta His greatest cowards, whence 

to fly 
" Were hopeless ruin— they must fight or 
die !" 



86 



P K O B I N G, 



Eough yet true teaching-"-proven to my cost. 
I feel the war- waves dash— my death-doom 
nigh. 
Oh Lord and Marshal of thy martyr-host, 
Nerve Thou my recreant soul, or I am lost I 



TO A SPIEITUALIST. 



FRIEND I Our Father doubtless hatli fair 
gardens 
Beyond the walls we see ; 
With restful glades, and souls we love for 
wardens, 
But — He hath kept the key. 



And yet hath told us, star-bright angels hover 
(Though with unvoiced name)* 

Around our ways, and our weak warfare cover 
With shield and sword of flame. 

♦ Judges siii. 18. 



88 TO A SPIRITUALIST 

Thus when our changeful time another teach- 
ing 
Would through old charms enthral 
'Neath a new tree of knowledge, widely reach- 
ing 
With fruit and songs for all ; — 



That rosy rind for me hides core of ashes : 

The song-notes I have heard 
Stir not my soul, as when true heart-fire flashes 

Forth from the Master's Word. 



Fain — till His love the flow of anguish stanches, 

When our beloved flee, 
Fain would we follow where each frail raft 
launches 

Far on the Eternal Sea 1 



TO A SPIRITUALIST. 89 

Fain would we hear their new-foimd joy out- 
gushing 
In Heaven's triumphant psalms, 
And feel a fragrance round our foreheads 
rushing 
Fann'd from their deathless palms ! 



Yet, — by the Way of Life, erewhile so narrow 

Lies there tliis sunken fence ? 
Falls the Bright Shaft of Grod an aimless arrow, 

Foiled by our finer sense ? 



Need we no more the Immortal intercession, 

The Sinless life-drops shed ? 
Led on through spheres of light in far pro- 
gression. 

By spirits of our Dead — 
8* 



90 TO A SPIRITUALIST. 

Our ransomed Dead, who clasped the Cross in 
dying 
With else despairing clutch ; 
And felt a Strong Eight Arm beneath them 

lying, 
His — whom they loved so much — 



The long, long line of souls who have not 
faltered 

From rack or fiery crown, 
But held in love the One True Faith unaltered. 

Let Queen or Kaiser frown. 



Have all returned, the cheerless rumor bringing 



That clasp and faith were vain ? 
h a wild dissonance of voices sing 
Each some untuneful strain P 



TO A SPIRITALIST. 91 

Nay — tlie old Spring by Beth-le-hem's Gate 
up-welling 

Thought's vexing fever cools 
More than a haze of myriad rain-drops swelling 

What may be mirage-pools. 



And though Our Father doubtless hath fair 
gardens 

Beyond the walls we see ; 
Till in good pleasure He unvail their wardens, 

We will not crave the key. 



AN INCIDENT 



" GrKiEVE not, love," a mother said, 
" If some morning, in my bed 
Grazing, tliou sliould'st find me dead. 

" Grieve not, daughter, if at night 
Dons my soul her robe of light — 
Through Eedeeming love made white ; 

" Mine this plea of boding fear, 
Urged through many a prayerful year, 
' While I sleeiD, may Death draw near ! 

" Not because 'twere sad to go 
From thy side, best-loved below ! — 
Whom I have believed, T know ; 



ANINCIDENT. 93 

" And His love, through love's sweet law. 
Since its rich depths first I saw, 
All my love hath power to draw. 

" But should lingering Death unlink 
Slowly all Earth's chains, I tliink 
Flesh must quiver — Faith must sink, 

" Doubtless, He who knows my frame. 
In night-watches oft who came, 
Will in east- wind rough-wind tame, — 

'^ Seal mine eyes from deathly cares — 
Place me — granting life-long prayers — 
Among angels unawares." 

Thus the dreamer. Ah ! not so 
Would her Lord His glory show. 
Blindfold home she might not go. 



94 ANINCIDENT. 

Not in slumber's silence bound, 
Hath her prayer its guerdon found, — 
Is the unconscious victor crowned. 

Through long months of lingering pain, 
Pangs of body, heart and brain, 
Sadly, slowly, life must wane. 

Lava-like, the death-blow crept 
O'er Hope's vineyard, yet she kept 
Patient watch the while, nor wept. 

One who drinks delicious wine 
From the press of fruits divine, 
Grapes of earth may well resign. 

Arms whose strength tried wrestler knows 
Mighty against myriad foes, 
'Neath that timorous heart uprose : 



ANINCIDENT. 95 

In the last hour, feared so long, 
Faith, thus held, grew eagle-strong„ 
And her soul passed home in song. 



"APPEAR NOT UNTO MEN TO FAST." 

Matt., chap, vi., v. IS. 



Not alone from food when fasting, 

Shun the look of proud Essene ; 
Famine of the soul, more lasting. 

Vail thou, too, 'neath smiles serene, 
Mutely, when thy sorrows darken, 

Keep them for a Saviour's eye, 
Nor in haunts where man may hearken. 

Loosen from thy heart one cry. 

How may friends with woe unladed. 
Lift thy burthen, soothe thy moan ? 

Let not Christ's love seem upbraided 
Through keen plaints of souls. His own ! 



APPEAR NOT UNTO MEN TO FAST. 97 

Woulcl'st thou still the ceaseless craving 
For some dear voice, silent now ? 

Think ! the grief whose sharp engraving 
Seams thy forehead, marked His brow ! 

Well He notes each keen incision 

Views thy heart-stripes, roughly scored. 
And reserves the open vision 

Of His love for thy reward ! 
Soon, from rock of memories hitter, 

At His Word will fountains hurst ; 
And their rills hy sand-paths glitter, 

Quenching even long love-thirst. 

Is thy fast in lonelier fashion 

Kept heneath a leaden cloud, 
'Twixt thy prayers and His compassion, 

Drifting, with Avierd face endowed .^ 
Tt;ll not loss of light so treasured 

To the world in loud lament ; 



98 APPEAR NOT UNTO MEN TO FAST. 

Lest it scoflf — " Thy God hath measured 
Cup that yields not my content." 

Gem of cost He counts the pleading 
Sacred to His ear alone — 

While His loving Prescience, reading- 
How thy faith subdues each groan — 

With dark thoughts declines to palter, — 
Leaves His ordering unaiTaigned — • 

Will, at length, mute patience alter 
Into smiles of peace unfeigned. 



OCEAN BLOSSOMS. 



Sent with a volume of pressed seaweeds to a Missionary kinsman in 
Burmali. 



Roses and lilies are fair to view, 

But roses and lilies fade — 
The daffodil loses her golden hue, 

The violet wilts in the shade, 
And the hare-bell revels in light and dew. 

On the heath where her clan have decayed. 

Dimmer of outline, and duller far 
Though the fragile sea-flowers be. 

Though tangles and gravel their beauty mar 
And they float where so few may see 

How the Deep hath mosses that delicate are 
As the daintiest growth of the lea ; 



100 OCEAN BLOSSOMS. 

Yet they crave but a cleansing from meaner things, 

Ere the fairy-like waifs unfold 
In a thousand fibres and flexile rings, 

Crimson, and brown, and gold ; 
While each to the leafs white surface clings 

With an unrelaxing hold. 

So hast thou seen on the heathen shore, 

Many a spirit lie. 
Darkened with evil encrusting o'er 

Hopes of as rich a dye. 
As thine own eyes view when they meekly pore 

O'er the promise of life on high. 

So, too, from sands of its native lair, 

Lifted with loving hand. 
Patiently tended in faith and prayer, 

Shall the human flower expand, 
Till it rivals in tissue and coloring rare 

The bloom of a happier land. 



OCEAN BLOSSOMS. 101 

And it will not wither. The rose we spoil 
When her stem from the root we sever ; 
But the souls thou art winning through tears 
and toil, 
By decaying grieve thee never : 
In the Book of Life they are safe from soil, 
And their loveliness lasts for ever. 
9* 



SABBATHS AT HOME 



Glad bells announce the comino: 

Of a holy SalDbath-time, 
Yet bring the thought benumbing 

For me they do not chime. 
Ah ! not for me the blessing 

In God's own Temple heard, 
By lowly hearts confessing 

How widely they have erred. 

Ye fleece-clouds floating o'er us ! 

Above you songs ascend 
In earth's encircling chorus, 

To Earth's One Glorious Friend. 



SABBATHS AT HOME. 103 

Youth in His Love rejoices, 
While children lisp the praise 

That swells from manly voices, 
And ancients full of days. 



Yet gi-ieve we for the scoffers, 

Who scorn Him and deride — ■ 
Or from His loving proffers 

For world-lures turn aside. 
For tares shall wheat encumber, 

Till the Millennial Song 
From lips no tongue may number, 

Else and reverberate long. 



O* ! lovely, lovely vision 
Of the Redeemer's reign ! 

Swaying to meek submission 
Each heart as well as fane — 



104 SABBATHS AT HOME. 

Bidding a rainbow glisten 

Through every gathering tear, 

While for our Lord we listen, 
And deem His Chariot near. 



What if the weary chastening 

Which holds us far away 
From service, should be hastening 

That pledged Possession-Day ! 
The faith and patience proven 

In many a lonely room, 
Be silver threads inwoven 

With glory in His Loom ! 



And j)ainful though our severance 

From Zion's holy Hill, 
Yet bowing low in reverence 

Before the rio'hteous Will. 



SABBATHS AT HOME. 105 

A sense of Christ's dear Presence 

May on the desert bare 
Fall, with diviner essence 

Than erst in place of prayer. 



Yea ! if the Dismal Valley 

To dreary prescience ope, 
One thought anew should rally 

Our half-exhausted hope, 
And gleam as dove- wings given 

To lift some grovelliug gnome — 
" Our Sahbath-Jiours in Heaven 

" Will all be spent at Home .'" 



TPIEY WENT AND TOLD JESUS. 

St. Matt., chap. .\iv., v. 12, 



Go and tell Jesus, when thine eye hath seen 
Dear hopes beheaded by the Tyrant, Death, 

When reeds thou lovest pierce the hands that 
lean — ■ 
Hear what He saith. 



Go and tell Jesus. In the Gulf of Thought 
Alone, oh dive not ! lest such root of 
bale 

For pearls thou gather, as the Eishcr bron;ght 
In Eastern tale. 



THEY WENT AND TOLD JESUS. 107 

Go and tell Jesus, Turn each thought to 
prayer — 
Nor smite frail crystal, where thy rehel 
Will 
Cast hy His word of power in ocean lair 
Lies wan and still. 



Gro and tell Jesus. Should'st thou yield it 
way, 
Soon would the daring Essence upward loom 
And o'er thy cringing heart hold ruthless 
sway 
From tower of gloom. 

Go and tell Jesus, if from word arisen. 

In some weak moment forth one murmur 
steal, 

He can the Giant-slave anew imprison 
With kingly seal. 



108 THEY WEKT AND TOLD JESUS. 

Go and tell Jesus. In His Wisdom lie 

All stores of solace. When rude gales in- 
crease, 

Askj and His Love shall pour on passions high 
The oil of peace. 



AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 

" We are less dazzled by the light on awaking, If we have been 
dreaming of visible objects."— Nov alis. 



Sunlight unbroken is flooding the room, 
Love's blessed token, it banishes gloom ; 
Sleep is enchaining thee late in the day, 
Friends are arraigning thee. Rise, nor delay ! 

Hast thou been dreaming of night scenes dark. 
With no starlight gleaming on the wave-sprung 

bark ? 
Then the splendors prevailing will dazzle thy 

sight 
Through their fullness entaUing a reflex of 

night. 

10 



110 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 

Were thy dreams of tlie lustre that dwells at 

noon 
Where vine leaves cluster o'er calm lagoon ? 
Then, though landscape aerial must vanish 

away, 
Will its colors ethereal blend well with full 

day. 



And refreshed through thy slumber, now may'st 

thou rise 
With no film to cumber unblenching eyes. 
Let the sloth in his dullness grope dimly along — ■ 
In the strength of thy usefulness thou wilt be 

strong ! 



Thus, when thou art musing on heavenly 

things, 
And thy heart's accusing a tremor brings, 



AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. Ill 

Or a prescient self-pity, at thought of that 

hour 
"When the Jasper-walled City, with pearl-gate 

and tower, 



Bears earthward the saintly in holiness white, 
Lest thy bluiTed vision faintly shrink far from 

that Light 
Lest taint of long sinning hang darkly on 

thee, 
And hold thee from winning the glories to be. 



Then lift, like an eagle, thy gaze on high ; 
Can low dreams inveigle the heaven-drawn 

eye? 
Nay ! rise and determine on earth to seek 
Tor the stainless ermine of spirits meek. 



112 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 

On that robe, Christ-woven, no fret or soil 

Will, by Heaven^s light cloven, work heart- 
recoil — • 

Fold thee now in its whiteness 1 so Death shall 
bring 

But familiar brightness of Home and King ! 



THE APOSTLES' CKEED 



In a cavern of Judea, so tlie old traditions 
run, 

Were the twelve apostles gathered. Stars 
shine forth when day is done. 

And that glorious constellation rose when van- 
ished Christ, the sun. 

Pleiad twin-group, soon to scatter where a 

darkened world had need, 
Bid a host of Helot nations in the Light of 

Truth be freed. 

And the hearts of millions mingle in their own 

immortal Creed. 

10* 



114 THE apostles' creed. 

" I believe in God the Father," first from mouth 

of Peter fell- 
Mouth whose tremulous denial one Almighty 

look could quell, 
And all fear of priest or Pilate from once-quail- 
ing heart expel. 

Now his faith for aye emboldened through re- 
membrance of that look, 

" Heaven and Earth, and Him their Maker," 
in its far embracing took — 

Nor Sanhedrim-scourge fast-falling for an hour 
its firmness shook. 

Well might meek St. Andrew answer, " I be- 
lieve in Christ our Lord" — 

He who left the great Fore-runner, and Mes- 
siah first adored — 

Who, when cross-bound, spake of Jesus till 
his soul to glory soared. 



THE APOSTLES' CREED. 115 

" Through, the Holy Ghost conceived^ and of 

Mary, Vhgin-born ;" 
Witnessed one who saw dim vesture by the 

Man of Sorrows worn, 
With a clear snow-brightness glisten, like fair 

Lebanon at morn. 

Since that vision, pain and sorrow, and all pass- 
ing trials seem 

With unearthly joy transfigured, through its 
ever-lucent beam — 

Bound King Herod's steel of vengeance soon in 
halo-light to gleam, 

" Under Fontius Pilate suffered, and at length 
was crucified," 

Saith disciple loved of Jesus, who, long watch- 
ing near His side, 

Saw from spear-thrust blood and water issue 
forth in blending tide. 



116 THE apostles' CREED. 

From tliat scliool of fearful anguish, came the 

lesson, "God is love \" 
Still on chaos-deep of sorrow broods for ever 

that brio;ht dove ! 
" God is Love !" glad song-burst, cborused still 

through hierarchs above ! 

Philip then, for God's sight longing, " He de- 
scended into hell," 

Among spirits of the faithful till " the third 
day," gone to dwell ; 

Then a Paschal Moon beheld Him " rise again" 
from rocky cell. 

" He ascended into Heaven." — As the brother 

of our Lord 
Said, " At God's right hand He sitteth," thro' 

his heart what memories poured 
Of the Holy Child's meek wisdom while at 

Galilean board ! 



THE apostles' CKEED. 117 

"And from thence again He cometh as the 

Judge of quick and dead" — 
Faintest speck of doubt now sullies not the 

glow on Thomas shed 
From bright scar of spear-and-nail wounds in 

his faithless view outspread. 

Then Bartholomew the guileless — "I believe 

in the Holy Ghost :" 
He had seen the blue skies open, the ascending 

angel-host, 
And the cloven flames that bickered throusrh 

high noon of Pentecost. 

Next the whilom son of traffic, chosen now for 
Gospel-scribe, — 

" In One Holy Church," enfolding hearts re- 
deemed from every tribe, 

"In communion of the saintly" — while they 
pray or praise ascribe. 



118 HE apostles' CEEED. 

Then St. Simoij — " In forgiveness of all sins" 

through. Jesus' name. 
Soon by force of that fond message, he forgave 

both scorn and blame, 
Praying long for cruel Persians, who to crucify 

him came. 

"In the body's resurrection," spake Matthias, 

"I believe, 
Though sharp stones crush out my spirit, and 

but maimed relics leave. 
Thence the might of my Eedeemer shall a form 

of power retrieve." 

" And in Life — Life-everlasting," was the say- 
ing of St. Jude, 

Yainly arrows of destruction, in his heart's 
blood soon embrued, 

Would arrest one hidden pulsing of that life 
through Christ renewed. 



THE apostles' CREED. 119 

Then tlie holy Twelve, departing, wandered 

forth in search of men, 
As true shepherds seek the straying, over 

mount and miry fen, 
And glad voices of the rescued, through all 

ages, shout "Amen." 



OLD AUTHOES 



When youthful squire of yore 

Paced up the moon-lit floor 
Of dim cathedral, and in silence prayed 

For grace to hold unstained 

Leal faith and vow, till waned 
The life ennohled by near accolade — 

Dreamed he of camp-fire's jest — 

Gay revel — lengthened quest 
Of v/ild adventure for his knightly brand ? 

Could thought of self defile 

That watch in holy aisle, 
Y\''ith trophies bannered, won in Holier Lind ? 



OLD AUTHORS. 121 

Nay — from crusading tomb, 

Low voices pierced tlie gloom, 
Nerving the novice unto deeds like theirs ; 

And dint of Paynim stroke 

On ancient visor woke 
Dormant soul-valor, that all peril dares. 

God's vassals we, who bow 

In armor-vigil now, 
Called from the camp of life in early prime 

To hear, through long, lone hours, 

Death knells from ivied towers. 
And ghostly footfalls move in crypts of Time. 

For us, it may be, wait 

Bright embassies of state, 

In realms of glory to our dreams unknown. 

When touch of Kingly Hand 

At dawn, shall bid us stand 

Where stainless heroes ring our Monarch'sthrone. 
11 



122 OLD AUTHORS. 

But now, the night is drear, 
How best may heart find cheer ? 

With gladsome echoings from the world with- 
out ? 
Not so — for tumult dies 
Down, where a sufferer sighs, 

As chapel-doors subdue the people's shout. 

With words of men who braved 
Long toil — ^long fears, and laved 

Their wounded souls beside deep wells of 
life— 
Who, Faith's ancestral lords. 
Fought on through demon-hordes. 

And for the Cross above it, hailed the knife ? 

These shall our sponsors be — 
The Truth they lived makes free, 
Soul-sparks yet kindle from that deathless 
flint—. 



OLD AUTHORS. 123 

Nor heart in fear can melt, 
Nor loneliness be felt, 
While viewing on their mail Hope's moonlight 
glint. 

From thoughts in anguish penn'd 

Long-buried saints yet send 
A warmth magnetic, welding life with life — 

And still, in dreariest hour. 

Each clarion-phrase hath power 
To brace the languid soul anew for strife. 



I COUNT ONLY THE HOUES THAT 
SHINE. 

INSCBIPTION ON A FLORENTINE SUN-DIAL. . 



When first tlie morning liglit is seen 
To glimmer on the dewy green, 
And make the spider's filmy net 
Like a bride's veil with diamonds set ; 
And when the sun, in royal state. 
Comes where cloud-courtiers grouping wait, 
His beaming smile and look of grace 
Given back from each attendant's face ; 
All rosy morning hues are mine — 
" I only count the hours that shine." 

When the same sun hath mounted high 
His palace stair-way in the sky ; 



I ONLY COUNT THE HOURS, ETC. 125 

When, by liis torrid force dismayed, 
Tired cattle seek for leafiest shade, 
And halls of marble fend the glare 
From cheek and brow of ladye fair ; — 
! then to me how dear his rays — 
No cloud-roof intercepts my gaze 
Upward in one uncheckered line : 
" I only count the hours that shine." 



At evening, upon Arno's stream. 

When sun-glows shed their parting gleam, 

And peasants meet for dance and glee 

Beneath the branchful ilex-tree, 

A maiden by her love forsaken — 

A harp the minstrel will not waken — 

A gathered rose flung idly by. 

Are far less desolate than I ; 

In vain the starry lamps combine — 

" I only count the hours that shine." 
11* 



126 I ONLY COUKT THE HOURS, ETC. 

If storms are gathering, and the change 

Drift darkly down from mountain range, 

While in thick forests, fertile vales, 

All my beloved sunshine fails : 

Then through long hours of gloom I wait 

Till furious flood and gale abate, 

Till the sun breaks o'er Yallombrose — 

"Warms the fair plains " where citron grows," 

And gilds the far-off Apennine — 

" I only count the hours that shine." 



Complainer ! when the page of life 
Looks with black lettering mainly rife ; 
When in some darling vision crost, 
Every delight of Earth seems lost, 
Review thy ranks of peaceful years, 
Unscarred by pain, undimmed by tears ; 
Number the mercies that are left. 
Even though thou feel of all bereft, 



I OKLY COUNT TUB HOURS, ETC. 127 

And let the dial be thy sign — 

"I only count the hours that shine." 



And if thy soul, with anguish fraught, 
Sink sadly, cheer thee with the thought 
How soon each dusky sail will clear 
In Heaven's unshadowed atmosphere ! 
Thou wilt remember all the love 
Which led thee to thy home above ; 
Thou wilt forget the trials here 
That overcast thy short career ; 
And sing, safe-moored in Port Divine — 
" I only count the hours that shine 1" 



WEEPING MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT, BUT 
JOY COMETH IN THE MORNING. 



We lavish thought and prayer on those 
Bowed low by grief, like guelder-rose 
When hailstones through her garden-home are 
sweeping ; 
Mute from our very awe, behold 
The lightning's work on dewy fold 
Of hearts ere while in warmth of summer 
sleeping. 

Longs soul of friend, that shallow urn, 
Thus to yield solace ? How must yearn 

Our Lord's deep Heart of Love when saints 
are weeping ! 
He whose Creative Breath first gave 
Flowers unto Earth, each tear will save. 

And smile it to a pearl in Heaven's sure keeping. 



TO THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER IN THE 
MAMMOTH CAVE OF KENTUCKY. 



River, sad River I why dost thou stay 
In a home unenlivened by glimmer of day ? 
Hast thou not learnt how thy sister streams 
Move in the Sun's light and mirror his 

beams ? 
The caverns thou threadest are chilly and 

drear, 
River, sad River ! what dost thou here ? 



Over their waters gay vessels glide, 
Banners gleam white as the gleaming tide, 
Willows, like Naiads by clear, cool wave, 
Bow, and luxuriant tresses lave- 
But no royal pinnace, no graceful tree. 
River, sad River I is glassed in thee. 



130 TO THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER. 

Lightly tlie plashing of boatman's oar 
Sounds on their banks when he rows from shore, 
Seen in the moonlight their silvery spray 
Glanceth like plumes beneath the south-wind's 

sway — 
Thine oars waken murmurs of sorrow and fear, 
Kiver, sad River ! what dost thou here ? 

Birds in their meadows blithe chorus sing, 
And May-buds welcome the smile of spring, 
There the young lambs with unweary play 
Eevel through Nature's holiday — 
But thou hast no pastures nor fleecy flocks — 
Tenant of lair in the heart of rocks ! 



Love's last token, so faintly blue. 
Never hath drawn thy reviving dew — 
And the spotless lily, that maiden queen- 
Spreads on thy surface no tent of gi'een, 



TO THE SUBTERRANEAN RIVER. 131 

Where are thy rushes and waving reeds, 
Linked with renown of heroic deeds ? 



No stately swan o'er thy bosom goes 
With arched neck white as are wintry snows- 
No fawn with lustrous yet timid eyes 
Away from thy margin startled flies, 
And childhood's voice, in its morning glee 
Einseth no musical notes for thee. 



River, sad Eiver, why wilt thou stay 
Banished forever from vision of day ? 
Break the strong arches, and let thy path 
Eise like the Sea in its billowy wrath — 
Soon woulds't thou shiver these bonds severe- 
Eiver, sad Eiver ! oh, linger not here ! 



THE EIVER'S RESPONSE. 



Tell me^ if my caverns drear 
Fill thee with this wondering fear, 
Murmurer, why art thou here ? 

Why my lonely walls thou seekest 
When through fields of verdure meekest 
Flow the waves whereof thou speakest ? 

If the music thou hast heard 
Of infant voice or singing bird 
Hath thy heart's light surface stirred, 



TUB river's response. 133 

Wherefore list my sullen moan, 

In a low funereal tone 

From the caves beneath me thrown ? 

Ah 1 the sounds that o'er me roll, 
Answer, with far- vibrant toll, 
To the deeps within thy soul. 

And no foam of torrent flashing 
Through grim notch — nor angry lashing 
Of the Sea on sand-hills dashing — 

Nor the Lake in quiet vale 
Shimmering under moonbeams pale. 
Linked with legendary tale, 

Bound thy soul, with tendrils fine 

Though then' marvels loop and twine — 

None shall clasp thee firm as mine. 
12 



134 THE kiveb's response. 

Ere youth's joys are overcast, 
Earely will the impression last, 
Caught from bright hues hurried past. 

But meek life beneath a rod, 
"Understood of none save God, 
Mirrors mine, in halls untrod. 

Here because my Maker wills ; 
And this rough home under hills. 
His wise planning best fulfills. 

Never will I quit my cell ; 
Nor my soul-bewildering spell 
To each careless zephyr tell. 

'Tis enough that all, who ever 
Sail a-down the Lonely Kiver, 
Shrine me in their souls forever. 



THE BOTTOMLESS PIT 

IN THE MAMMOTH CAVE OP KENTUCKY, 



Wild way ! and wilder chasm I 
Our torch, with flickering ray, 
Paints many a wierd phantasm 
On massy bowlders gray ; 
And, save our voices, all is still 
As in a charnel-cavern chill. 

A tiny cresset, hung 

Across the unfathomed deeps. 
And slowly downward swung, 
With glow-worm lustre creeps ; 
While rocks, that lie in giant rest, 
Frown on their unfamiliar guest. 



136 THE BOTTOMLESS PIT, ETC. 

Faith's lamp, with quiet glow, 
(When all beside is gloom), 
Too faint the Past to show, 
The Future to illume. 
Can thus all needful brightness shed 
On souls through vault of shadows led. 

Though scarce one gleam may fall 

On griefs of vanished days. 
Though gloom envelope all 
Life's yet untravelled maze- 
Move calmly on-— thine hourly store 
Of light suflficeth — ask no more 1 



CRADLE SINGING. 



" So war es inir in der Wiege gesungen," is a proverbial expression 
for destiny in the nortli of Germany. 



MooN-KAYS and vine-leaves light and shade 
were sending 
Through a still chamber. There, at close of 
day 
A mother saw two glorious angels bending 
Over the cradle where her darling lay. 

Trom crimson mist one form looked forth, and 

Swung o'er the infant-brow a rosy crown : 

White clouds the other veiled, and mosses daily 

Plucked by the Cross, her thorn-leaf made 

like down. 

12* 



138 CEADLE SINGING. 

" Give me thy cliild/' sang one, " oli gentle 

mother ! 

For homes I haunt no sickening fears flit by, 

None with feigned mirth a silent anguish 

smother — 

All things are glad and fair when I am nigh. 

"She shall be glad and fair, her buoyance win- 
ning 
Smiles from the saddest, through her mirth- 
strewn way ; 
While ills that others feel, like fleece-clouds 
thinning 
At sight of sunshine, bring her brief dismay. 

"Yield her to me, and I, with pleasures jjaving 

Her future path, the trast will truly keep, 

And sow thick germs of light, whose increase 

waving, 

Thou in glad harvest may'st hereafter reap." 



CRADLE SINGING. 139 

Ceased the sweet singing — and another measure 
Flowed from the white-robed form. A sense 
of calm 
Came with the sounds, as when for dearest 
treasure 
All sobs are silenced by the burial-psalm. 

"Give mc thy babe, and though my name be 
Sorrow, 
And far my dwelling from the haunts of 
mirth, 
She from my sterner training strength shall 
borrow : 
'Tis from crushed blossoms richest balms 
' have birth. 

" Tears she must shed alone her eyes will 
meeten 
To look on others' pangs with grieving 
. glance, 



140 CEADLE SINGING. 

Herbs she in twilight culls their gall-draughts 
sweeten, 
Through their dull nights her smiles, like 
fire-flies, dance. 

^' She shall have fi'iends on high, gone home 
before her. 
For holier hands than hers in mine have lain; 
And friends on earth, in heart of hearts who 
store her, 
Helped by her love through weariness and 
pain. 

" And these will weave her an unfading gar- 
land, 
.With joys unclustered, as of old the bees 
Eifled true flowers of Sheban queen from far 
land, 
And left the false untouched in scentless 
ease. 



CRADLE SINGING. 141 

" Give me thy babe !" But here that mother's 
weeping 
Hushed the grief-angel, while her gaze for- 
lorn, 
Saw on the lovely face, like rose-bud sleeping, 
The fearful shadow of the crown of thorn. 

When bloom-hung boughs of joy so swiftly 
wither. 
How build her babe with these a shielding- 
booth ? 
Since paths of grief with briars are strewn, 
how thither 
Doom the bright eyes and bounding feet of 
youth ? 

Then, with bent knee, she cried : " Oh Lord, I 
rather 
Yield her to Thee. Thy will be done, not 
mine! 



142 CRADLE SINGING. 

Be Joy or Grief her Guide, wisest Fa- 
ther ! 
Choose Thou her portion — only make her 
Thine !" 



DIVINE SEEVICE. 



If once again to Thy fair Court 
Of service, Lord, I might resort ; 
If mingling with the faithful there, 
My voice went up in song and prayer, 
And I could kneel at chancel-rail — 
It may be heart and hope would fail 
Less often, and Thy peace, like dew, 
Lie ou my way the whole week through. 

for a faith too firm to peer 
For cloud-born joy or treasure here. 
To grieve o'er earth-reeds broken now, 
O'er dream of youth and film-spun vow- 



144 DIVINE SERVICE. 

Thoiigli, far as eye of sense may see, 
Not one green hope is left for me, 
'Tis Summer-land for loving heart 
In every sojourn where Thou art ! 

Then make my soul Thy Temple^Lord ! 
Come and drive hence the chaffering horde, 
Of eawr thouo;hts whose murmurs fill 
Porches and aisles against my will. 
Thus, if no more within Thy Gate, 
My feet on Thy dear service wait. 
The long privation will be slight 
With Thee for Altar, Priest, and Light ! 



DISSONANCE 



The earth is full of discords, for men deem 
Each his own symbol sweetest. Selfish clang, 
Whelms holy sounds that first from Beth- 
lehem rang. 
Firehells break harshly on melodious dream, 
To sufierer's pillow brought by Christmas 
theme, 
Carolled in depth of midnight. Deafening 

bang 
Of idol-service drowns the fakeer's pang 
Crushed beneath car-wheels, while none heed 
his scream. 
Ah doleful Tuning-Time ! our ears are 

stunned 

13 



146 DISSONANCE. 

With crossing clamors. Would our eyes might 
see 
Tlie Leader's rod uplifted, and his fund 
Of deep soul-music rise like snow rills sunned 
'Neath Polar Summer. So should Discord be 
Flooded in harpings from the Crystal Sea ! 



HEAKT, WELL NIGH HOME, 



Thy Life-cruise is ending, 
Yv^hite crest of each wave 

"Willi swifter rush tending 
Home's ramparts to lave. 

Then fear not the blending 
Of cloud, reef and foam — 
Heart, well nigh home ! 

Not with soft moon-light 

Now glisten thy sails, 
They are seen in full Noon-light, 

Soiled, threshed by storm-flails ; 
But high as Love's Boon-light 



148 IIEAET, WELL NIGH HOME. 

Storm never clomb ! 
Heart, well nigh home. 

Sea- wealth worth craving 

Soothed not thy pride : 
Dint of foes' graving 

Paint will not hide. 
But for Christ's saving 

Help, ne'er hadst thou come 

Heart, well nigh home. 

Heart, therefore lay all 

Low at his feet — 
Years of betrayal. 

Service how fleet ! 
Waiting there thine arrayal 

Meet for Heaven's Dome, 

Heart, well nigh home ! 



THE CHRISTIAN'S CHAIN 



What is our Bible but a golden chain, 

With promises like pendant charms 
For Faith to handle, strong to vanquish pain. 

Heal grief or soothe alarms ? 
Through a long ancestry, from saint to saint 

The noble heir-loom came. 
Never by treason-forfeit or attaint, 

Allied with shame. 

When gaze of thoughtful woman first is bent 

On antique jewels, will she say 

Their worth lies wholly in the brightness lent 

To her own beauty ? — Nay 
13* 



150 THE CHRISTIAN S CHAIN. 

Eacli sapphire splendor, amethystine gloom, 

Kevives some olden tale 
Of warrior's valor, or fond maiden's bloom, 

In death long pale. 

Our jewels have their legends. Some have 
brought 

Mute odors from the Mount of Balm 
To mourners faint with unavailing thous-lrt — 

From one beloved psalm 
Come tones of hope, that trusting souls rehearse, 

Leaving their lodge of clay — 
Prayer for renewal, through yon pleaded verse. 

Hath won its way, 

The Word is precious. Well our own deep 
need 

Hath taught its value ; yet we love 
To feel it link us with the Sacred Seed, 

Lons housed in light above. 



THE christian's CHAIN. 151 

Fair memories lingering on from age to ago, 

And names we never knew 
Like vanished rose-leaves, haunt the Holy 
Page 

With fragrance true. 

Whispers of blessing, wherewith martyrs stirred 

Dank air of catacomb and den ! 
Songs of meek praises, from apostles heard, 

With gyve-clank mingling then. 
These hold we precious, and yet far more 
dear 

A Saviour's parting prayers — 
No solemn utterance of bard or seer — ■ 

Hath power like theirs. 

One. Family in Heaven and Earth. His hand 
G-rasps our gem-laden treasure still. 

And weakest touches from His own frail band 
Still rouse the immortal thrill. 



152 THE christian's CHAIN. 

Friends ! who that force electric once have felt, 

Round it more closely curl 
Your clasp, nor let the scoff corrosive melt 

One priceless pearl. 



" LIKE HIM, FOR WE SHALL SEE 
HIM AS HE IS." 

1 John, cliap. 3, v. 2. 



Weary of self and sin, 

'Tis well to look away 
From inward evil- — outward sin — 

To Christ's Appearing-Day : 

For when He shall appear, 

My cup of life will brim 
With Love's pure wine, uncloyed by Fear, 

And I shall be like Him. 

Like Him ! My thoughts that swoop 
Afar with falcon's wing, 



154 "like him," etc. 

Then round His throne will meeMy group, 
And there glad praises sing, 

L lice Him I My wayward lips, 
Touched by Death's cleansing coal, 

Shall veil no more, in half eclipse, 
Deep workings of the soul. 

Like Him I No wilful prayer 

Will soar on pinion strong, 
But to enhance my heart's despair. 

And beat at Heaven's gate long. 

Like Him I No faultful deeds, 

To fence of duty blind. 
Rise in rank growth — ^unsightly weeds 

From soil of godless mind. 

Like Him! My restless will — 
No longer prone to carp — 



"like him," etc. 155 

Shall at His bidding softly thrill, 
As thrills an air-moved harp. 

While Joy's long dormant flower 

Blooms, with no stain to dim 
Its broad unfolding, from the hour 

When I shall be like Him 1 



LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER. 



Lone among rocks the Giant lay — 
His might of soul inert as they — 
Viewing broad billows ebb away. 

Yet wave and rock^ from boyhood's hour, 
Thrilled him with sense of kindred power 
Like wave to lash— like sea-cliff tower ; 

And if around Love's sun-lit isle 
Thought-currents gleamed in joy awhile, 
Soon fell the spring-flood— -ceased the smile. 

" The strong sea knows his path/' he said, 
" Is ruled by yon calm moon j 



ST. CHBISTOPHEK. 157 

But the surgings of my soul, unled, 

For channels importune ; 
I tire of winter — snow bespread- 
As I tire of summer noon. 
Glad sea ! with life-rule traced on high- 
Glad moon ! whose light may wane, not die— 
Ye have your task-work — none have I." 

Lifting then his stalwart length, 
In full majesty of strength. 

Forth Phoros fared. 
Craving, for the arm and breast 
That in work alone found rest — 
Service of Earth's mightiest 

King, with power unshared. 

Stately palace wins his eye. 

Stately chief his prowess viewing, 

Notes how in the brave arms lie 

Strength and skill for foes' subduing, 
14 



158 LEGEND OF 

While tlie child-lieart longs to serve, 
Nor from loyal faith will swerve ; 
Well may the warrior-monarch hail 

His coming, dream of foes unhorsed, 
And of souls threshed out from their fleshly 
mail, 

Like grain from its shell in autumn forced, 
By that massive human flail. 

And then heart of Phoros hounded 

With gleeful sense of gain ; 
No more from dull inaction hounded 

To effort wild as vain — 
Hope scaled the hill-peak viewed so long. 
And toil and honor crowned the strong. 

One morn there came a herald, sent 

With speed from a lonely village, where 
Marauders in the midnight went 
To rifle sleeping shepherd's tent ; 



ST. CHKISTOPHEE. 159 

Nor might their vulture taloDS spare 
One living child, one matron bentj 
One old man's meek white hair. 

Listened the king, with a wrathful brow : 
" Satan our world is walking now," 

Spake one of his valiant men ; 
And the royal hand at that word of bale 
Signed the cross, and his cheek grew pale — 

But Phoros questioned then : 

" Whence this Satan, noble sire ? 
I had deemed thee first of all 
Kings who this world keep in thrall — 
Canst thou fear another's ire !" 

" Ask me not," his lord replied, 

" Learning will but grieve thee." 
" Nay," the stalwart vassal cried, 
" Tell me, or I leave thee." 



jO legendop 

And the unwilling Chieftain press'd 
Fear of Satan's power confessed. 

Faded then his vassal's dream, 
Faded all his fond esteem. 
Only to the Mightiest, he 
Pledged his own might loyally. 
Sadly grasjjing sword and shield 
Moved he to the avenging field ; 
There beneath his falchion fell 
Mowed like grass, the Infidel — 
But when the war-tide ceased to roll, 
Forth from the camp Phoros stole. 



Soon in a lonely mountain-glen 
The Giant found the Foe of men ; 
Willingly his guileless thought 
Bowed before a strength long sought j 



ST. CHRISTOPHER. 161 

Slender parley, brief soul siege 
Needed ere he hailed his Liege. 

And meekly he followed the Prince of Air 
Through wild- wood pathways, by wild brute's 

lair, 
Till a Cross upreared on a bleak hill-side 
Imaged the love of the Crucified ; 

Aside the Demon flew, 
Nor paused for tangle, brier or fosse, 
Till far from Shadow of the Cross, 

His new-found thrall he drew. 

" Wherefore this haste T' Phoros spake ; 
" Plainer yon hill-path than briarful brake." 

" Little boots it, friend, to know — 

Ivy-crown, perchance, I'd weave thee" — 

But Phoros cried — " Not so ! 

Tell me, or I leave thee !" 
14* 



162 LEGEND OP 

" Once with the Being sculptured there 
Long time I wrestled, unaware 
What inborn strength enshrouded lay — 
"What dauntless soul, in sheath of clay ! 
At last he fell. In triumph reigned 
My star awhile. That fall was feigned : 
Soon from my grasp the Christ arose ; 
And still we meet as lifelong foes — 
Here let the hateful memory close." 

" Greater then his might than thine," 
Mused Phoros—" Master Mine !" 

" Heed him not, my vassal true, 
I have realms he never kncv/ ; 
There long years of bliss await thee. 
There shall smiles of pleasure sate tliee, 
Warm as sunshine, bright as dew." 

But the soul he deemed enmeshed. 
As with wine of Life refreshed, 



ST. CHRISTOPHER. 163 

Kose, and calmly turned away 

From that losel in aifray, 

Toward the Prince who won the day. 



In the heart of silent forest 
Knelt an aged man and prayed, 

Pilgrims when their need was sorest. 
Sought for help that home-like glade. 

Him Phoros told — " To none 

But the strongest Monarch under Sun 
Are my vows of service paid. 

I have learned through wanderings long, 

Christ is strongest of the strong ; 

But His Court is far away. 

None I seek the road can say ; 

All its waymarks are too dim ; 

Lead me, Father, unto Him." 



164 LEGEND OF 

" Not with eye of sense, my Child, 
Canst thou view the Undefiled : 
Lordly growth and might of limb 
Form not offerings meet for Him. 
He no battle service needs ; 
Dearer to His heart are sighs, 
If from lowly thoughts they rise, 
Than archangels' valiant deeds. 
Turn from haunts of Earth aside, 
Bow in prayer thy own vain pride ; 
Through long fastings watch and kneel, 
Till thy Lord Himself reveal." 

" I will not fast to lose 

Strength by my Maker givon ; 
I can not pray and muse 
All day, on far-oif Heaven. 
Long lonely hours are too drear a ban ; 
Bid me toil for this Saviour, thou saintly 
man." 



ST. cull I ST OP HER. J 65 

" Where in many a dangerous eddy 

Snake-like, yon deep river rolls, 
Strength of thine, perchance, may steady 

Failing strength of feeble souls. 
Thither hasten, hourly aiding 

All in want or fear who cry, 
Shrink not then from midnight wading 

Lift thy heart to Christ on high." 

Soon from river-bank uprooting 

For his staff tall trunk of palm, 
Passed he his life in suiting 
Cordial help to weakling's qualm — 
Guarded by his fearless footing, 

Frailest pilgrim crossed in calm. 
Christ the while, on earth who served. 
Watched, well-pleased, the strength so 

nerved 
Lowliest task-work to fulfill. 
Faithful, thoucch in darkness still. 



16G LEGEND OF 



Watched the love, that spring-like welled, 

Nor from tiny cup once held, 

Deemed the poor man's thirst all quelled. 



One night the flood was foaming high, 
And harsh winds told of tempest nigh ; 
While Phoros mused with many a sigh 
n his so long-deferred reward, 
On craved-for vision of His Lord. 
For heavy and dark was the load of sin ; 
And wilder the warring his soul within. 
Than moan and shriek of the swollen Linn, 

Lo ! a faint, half- whispered cry 
Fell on his ear as a babe were nigh, 
And the Giant marvelled — Had he slept ? 
When again it rose. — From their pallet leapt 



ST. CHRISTOPHER. 167 

The strong limbs swiftly ; his staff is ta'en 
And forth he plunges through blinding rain. 
Again that cry. — On the bank a child 
Watches the torrent, seething wild, 
" Wilt thou bear me over, Friend .?" it cried ; 
" Mine errand lieth on yonder side." 

Then Phoros raised the fair young form. 
And turned his face unto flood and storm. 
Scarce hath one firm foot felt the wave, 
When tempest-voices loudlier rave. 
And the child-burden presseth sore, 
Strong though his arm, ere half-wav o'er. 

Higher yet the storm-wave surges. 
Tireless yet the storm-wind scourges, 
And the palm-staff, tried of old, 
Finds in shifting sand no hold, 
AVhile the child's arm, round him curled, 
Weighs, as though he bare a world. 



168 LEGEND OF 

Falls the prowess once so vaunted — 
Fails the clieer till now undaunted — 
In this struggling shall he sink ? 
One more step, for need is urgent ! 
Yet another — and emer2;ent 
Falls he by the channel's brink ; 
Borrowing for his fearful burthen 
From the rough bank, cradle earthen. 
Panting faintly, " Child thy name ! 
Fair thou art, and slight of frame ; 
But wayfarer never came 
Near this ford, whose clasp could twine 
Bound me with a force like thine \" 

Parted then the dusk night-cloud ; 
Hushed the winds their quarrel loud ; 
But on turf the moon-beams lay 
Not with half so pure a ray. 
As, in mingled power and grace, 
Shines around that Infant-Face, 



ST. CIIKISTOPIIEK. 169 

Made the rough bank holy ground — 
Holy, with a Saviour found. 

Soon to Love's most loving tone 
Changed the child's appealing moan. 
Planting, at its word, his palm 
In the damp earth, buds of balm 
From the well-worn staff arose ; 
And sweeter dates than Ilermon grows. 
Formed the feathery palm-leaves fair 
Coronal for trunk so bare ? 
Feebly could their flush compare 
With the glad thoughts that curing 
Heart unhoping, whilst full S2)ring 
Comes with coming of its King ! 

Touched, transfigured through the sight, 

Life and death alike grow bright. 

Though Heaven's glory lure away — 

He for pilgrim's help can stay ; 
15 



170 LEGEXJ) OF 

Earth's mad storms mciy round him fly — 
Henceforth he can dare and die. 

Ere long he learned how Lycian hordes 
Drenched in the blood of saints their swords, 
And thither led by mvstic cords, 
Phoros son2;ht the idoi-ianes 
Of Samos, red with martyr-stains. 
Thrice happy if his tones of cheer, 
Gladdening erewhile wayfarer's ear. 
Might now with hopes enheartening guide 
Those before whom, in heavier tide. 
Flowed the Death-Torrent, dark and wide. 

Eained heathen smitings on his face ? 
He smiled back : " But for Jesus' grace 
Well would mine arm avenge each blow ; 
But Christian hearts no malice know !" 

Then to a throne of judgment near. 
The martyr's stalwart friend they led ; 



ST. CHRISTOPHER. 171 

Their puny kingling swooned in fear, 

And cried, " Thy name, man of dread!'' 
Answered his cajjtive, low and clear : 

"Phoros, Bearer — called of yore 
From burthens that with ease I bore ; 
Till carrying One than all Earth fairer, 
I learned of Him a nobler aim, 
And won from Him my nobler name : 
Now in His martyrs' love a sharer — 
Christopher — Of Christ the Bearer." 

Storm of menace, jeer and blows 
Round him with that word arose : 
But his robe of faith he held 
Closer while the heathen yelled. 
Then temptation's summer-call 
Would with song and bloom enthrall. 
Till, subdued, strong heart should fall : — ■ 
Thong or threat, or floral chain 



1T2 ST. CHRISTOPHER. 

Might not win for altars vain 
From his pahn one incense-grain. 

Kneeling ere the headsman's stroke 
Loosed his soul from fleshly yoke, 
Christopher the silence broke : 
" Saviour, if weak pilgrims tire 
Through the force of flood and fire. 
Earth-quake, storm, or thunder-peal, 
Hear Thou ! when the tremblers kneel, 
Thinking on my dreary case — 
Dreary, till Thy Glorious Face, 
Beamed on more than midnight gloom. 
And while, trusting in Thy grace. 
They the help I found retrace. 
May Thy love their faith illume. 
And all shadows, dark to see. 
From Thy radiant Presence flee \" 

Note. — This legend. e%'idently allegorioal, has been called 
the Pilgrim's Progress of mediajval times, and was very pop- 
ular among citizens and peasantry. 



THE KAINBOAV ON THE EAILWAY. 



On, on, through swamp and tangle, 
With brain-bewildering jangle, 
Fierce cry and fiercer wrangle, 

The Fire-Steed flew : 
Past Cypress veiled in mosses 
(Long worn for greenwood losses) 
That over shiny fosses 

Dull shadows threw : 
O'er rice-marsh danldy seething 
Past poison vines up- wreathing, 
From loveliest blossoms breathing 

Most fatal dew — 
15* 



174 THE EAINEOW ON THE RAILWAY. 

Where sparkle-boughs shone varnished 
O'er pools with lilies garnished, 
And tiny runnels, tarnished 
Through Heaps of pine, 
High boles once gaily fringing, 
Then bronzed by camp-fire's singeing 
And now the clear waves tinsinor 

With tawny wine. 
Past wood-scenes borne thus lightly 
Through din and smoke unsightly 
To me a sense came brightly 

Of Care Divine. 

For, spite of haste and whirling, 
Like sound of maelstrom swirling, 
Where the white steam rose curling 

A Sun-Bow lay, 
Eich-hued as some that tarry. 
Where beams and dew-drops marry, 
And heaven's bright flashes cany 



THK RAINBOW ON THE KAIL WAY. 175 

Througli cataract spray : 
Full-arched as others, glowing 
On men for dear life rowing, 
When summer storms are going 

From ocean-bay. 

Sign of God's sure befriending, 
Frail heart from ill defending, 
Thy silent lesson blending 

With that fierce din. 
Said " Thus, in scenes of squalor. 
Can Faith, with cheery valor. 
Turn its bright prism on pallor 

Of toil and sin ; 
Thus too, our God, — if duly, 
Through all Earth's noise unruly. 
We seek and serve Him truly, — 

Gives peace within." 



S USPEN SB. 



Worse ordeal far than gloomiest fate, 
That life, wherein the sentence " Wait V 
Seems from each hour inalienate. 

When vulture-fancies scent from far 

A coming fight ; and sound of war 

Thrills with new pangs the long-healed scar ; 

To stand in day-dawn's blissful hush, 
Fearing, ere night, the winnowing rush 
• ;'■ tempest wings all joy may crush. 

To feel tlie lieart a prisoner, pent 
As in old tower where sunlight sent, 
Through seven higrh lattices, content. 






S U SPENSE. 177 

Content soon lost in doubt and fear; 
When, one by one, each lattice clear 
Did dim and all opaque appear. 

So fade youth's hopes and visions — fade 

The gentle forms by love arrayed 

In light which noon of twilight made. 

The joys that sprang when life began 

Evanish, till we faintly scan 

Day's glimmer through one narrow sj)an ; 

And waiting, watch the dark Death- Wall 
Come nearer, nearer ; while a pall 
Of terror holds the heart in thrall. 

Nay, captive, nay ! Unviewed of thee 
Beyond that Wall, with golden key, 
One at whose smile all shadows flee, 



178 SUSPENSi2. 

Waits till thy vision, purged from sin, 
May strength, through grief's anointing, win 
To bear the light His love lets in. 

When from Life's often-clouded day 
The last dear splendor dies away, 
Closing thine eyelids, meekly j)ray 

That He would pierce the fold of sense 

With warmth from Heaven, whose glow intense 

Can still the shiver of suspense. 

Thus when His voice at length is heard 
Calling to freedom long deferr'd ; 
Heart, hope, and love unsepulchred, 

Shall sigh no more in chains of care — 
,Shall breathe no more a prisoner's prayer, 
Sure of all bliss — with Jesus there. 



THE LESSON OF GIDEON. 

JuDGKS, chiip. viii., V. 1-7. 

A PLEA FOR MISSIONS. 



To our homes, lo ! the Champion of Israel 

draws nigh, 
While his valiant three hundred move wearily 

by; 

And rich though their trophies, their number 

no more, 
Than a gleaning of grapes when the vintage is 

o'er. 

And slender the service He claims at our 
hands, 

For the few who thus foray in far border- 
lands : 



180 THE LESSON OF G I D K O N . 

Rich pnrple-liued raiment, soft cushions and 

pelf, 
AVere unmeet for His chosen — unsought by 

Himself 

We dwell with our people : — through alien 

morass, 
Lone defile, or jungle, in silence they pass ; 
Bright soil of the desert their sandals may burn, 
But the heart-glow is brighter — they will not 

return. 



From the " faint yet pursuing," witliliold we 

the bread, 
Which lacking, they fall in their armor, unfed : 
While our prayers and our love should be with 

them, as wine. 
When all that is cheering, for Christ, they 

resi"-n. 



THE LESSON OF GIDEON. 181 

Oh sliaine on our self-love ! Through iuner- 

most room 
Of each silken pavilion floats whisper of doom. 
Like the rustling of wings ere all happiness 

flee, 
" Gifts held from my servants are held hack 

from Me." 

Up, friends ! at the warning, from pillow of 
rest ! 

To pile for your Chief and His chosen our 
hest ; 

Lest leaving those brave hearts to press on for- 
lorn, 

With briars, when He cometh, our own hearts 
be torn. 

16 



KACHEL, LADY EUSSELL. 



" Whatever below God is the object of our love» will at some time or 
other be the matter of our sorrows."— Lettbes op Last Russell. 



Her rose of love unfolded, bud and bloom 
Perfect in beauty, while the Master's look 
Watched with approval. Then from garden- 
nook 
Of home His hand removed it. Was there 

room 
In the close leaves for canker ? Would per- 
fume 
Be lost in world-born vapors, that He took 
The rose so roughly, and with wild winds 
shook 
Buds left yet lingering, hedged in ivy gloom ? 



IIACUEL, LAUY EU8SELL. 183 

All ! bliss of Earth is but a plant whose seed, 
Perennial in Heaven's tropic soil, doth need'-' 
Yearly renewal in our chillier clime. 
We weep o'er flowers removed ere winter's 
rime ; 
And by our weeping blinded, fail to heed 
How safe their crystal shield from blasts of 
Timel 

IL 

" Has the prisoner any one to aid him in talcing notes ?" asked the 
judge. " My wife is here, my lord, to do it," said the accused. 

History op England. 

She can not stay to weep while voice or pen 
Yields chance to aid him. Tears now fleck 
Her bark's clear sunshine, but with him on 
deck 
They will seem luminous hereafter, when 
Both voice and pen are failures, and fierce men 

* Dr. Livingston discovered a species of cotton-plant in 
the interior of Africa, which was not an annual, as with us, 
but, once sown, continued to flourish for years. 



18-i RACHEL, LADY RUSSELL. 

Have hailed with ready zeal a tyrant's beck; 

When she, the lone survivor of that wreck, 
Peers o'er the waste for seas beyond her ken. 

Where floats in peace her dear lord's caravel. 
Heart of true woman ! faithful to the last, 

All selfish pangs one smile of love can quell- 
Not till that smile hath vanished, hurrying fast, 

Can after-tides of w^oe her spirit cast 
On shores where hoarse gales murmur " Is it 
well ?" 

III. 

"I was too rich in possessions while I possessed him : all relish now 
Is gone." — Letters of Lady Eussell. 

Her heart, resplendent once as royal hall 
Where Joy was reigning, views him now de- 
throned ; 
While the soiled blazonries and shields he 
owned 
Bear, in debasement, witness to his fall. 

Grief, the new monarch, sits for coronal 



KACIIEL, LADY RUSSELL. 185 

'Midst dark-robed peers, and scutcheons 
darker toned. 

His sad-voiced champion hath a challenge 
droned 
'Gainst all usurpers, and with gauntlet-call, 

Waits for defiance, where no thought defies. 
In hours of agony alone we learn 

What solemn depth £)ur being underlies, 
Though every wish for that old sovereign yearn, 

Though loyal fancies would in rapture rise, 
Joy's reign of sunlight never can return. 



IT. 



" ^fy class runs low. The world does not want me, nor I want 
that." — Lady Kussell. 

" I should have been afraid of such a woman as Lady Rachel ; it would 
have been too awful. Tlicve are pieces of china very line and beautiful, 
but never intended for daily use." — Sydney S.mitii. 



Yet years of life await her. Sorrow kills 
In ballads only or antique romance. 
And the close-linked mail of circumstance 
16* 



1S6 RACHEL, LADY KUSSELL. 

Arms her for. living, with firm oorslet stills 
Each mad death-longing. Mirth of childhood fills 
The home made silent. Youth's untroubled 

dance 
May not be fettered by her tearful glance ; 
Nor will she quail anew from death-bed ills, 
Braced for all anguish, having known the 

worst. 
And sad hearts love her, since their bitter 
thirst 
Her hand from living well will meekly slake. 
Let mirthful natures deem her heart in- 
hearsed, 
And shrink from one so chastened, Grod will take 
Her closer 'neath His wing whom men forsake. 

V. 

" It is reasonable to believe our friends find that rest we yet but hope 
for." — Lady Russell. 

Keen Death air vises in the ungenial East, 
And floats o'er graves where lie our holy dead 



EACHEL, LADY EUSSELL. 187 

Witli feet turned eastward, waiting for tlie 
Tread; 
That startles worldlings from tlieir wassail- 
feast 
To fears, like lightning, felt when looked for 
least. 
But dawn brings glory. Christ His guests 

hath led 
To the fair chamber,Peace, whose pleasant bed 
Fronteth the sunrise. There, no rose leaf 
creased, 
They rest till morning. Shall an acarn 
guess 
What far capacities of height and shade, 
Like gi'owth unseen, its dull-hued sides com- 
press ? 
How from one hour of joy can heart o'er- 
weighed 
With care, the brancnful growth of blessedness 
Foretell, on southward slope of Eden's glade ? 



P Ail TIN a. 



Now I have lost whom most fondly I love, 
To-day's wind hath tost thee afar, my own 

dove ! 
And still to my vision repeats thy dear smile, 
In gentlest derision — " 'Tis but for awhile ; 
How foolish our weeping ! Like infants at 

play, 

Eecoiling and peeping, we part for one day." 

Ah Love ! through each parting, too brief for 

a tear, 
Wild May-Bes are darting, winged missiles of 

fear. 



TAR TING. 189 

That hint, as they hurtle, how venom of 

asp 
May be sheltered in myrtle, and sting ere I 

clasp ; 
How often veiled dangers which Love would 

avert, 
Unnoticed by strangers, work horror and hurt. 

'' I fear where I should not." Thy voice, too 

hath said — 
'' Since true spirits could not by Death be 

unwed 
On dew-drops if Light fall, and lift one on 

high. 
While in flower-leaf till nightfall another may 

lie ; 
Both upwards are fleeing — both worship one 

Sun, 
And lapse in His Being when earth-life is 

done." 



190 PARTING. 

I doubt not the saying, yet daily my prayer 
Seeks thy Sun-Life's delaying, till I too am 

there. 
If angels accost thee, respond not, mine own ! 
From my Nile, had I lost thee, the lotos were 

gone ; 
"Whose deep root holds firmer when gales j^rove 

its power ; 
'Tis therefore I murmur to miss thee an hour. 



"EXCEPT THE LORD BUILD THE HOUSE 
TIIEY LABOR IN VAIN THAT BUILD IT." 



My cottage lay in ruins — tempest-torn, 

I need not tell you how. 
Fierce winds the fragile walls had earthward 
borne. 



J 



And battered each green bough. 
Enough. I must re^mir the tenement, 

Elsewhere I could not go ; 
And pitying friends came round me, with intent 

Their counsel to bestow. 

First Fancy o'er my garden-plot would pore, 

With promises and plan 
To make my dwelling firmer than before : 

But when the work besan. 



192 "except tpie loud build," etc. 

Hf r levers failed one beam or plank to move, 

Fashioned from baseless air ; 
And her most choice materials did but j)rove 

Kaleidoscopic ware. 

Then Skill showed plainly how, with hail o'er- 
borne, 

The slender sides and roof 
Yielded to pressure, yet, less roughly worn. 

Had been tornado-proof. 
Opined, with stancheons new — with careful 
latch, 

And ivy-bands to climb 
From porch to gable, linking sill with thatch, 

The House might last my time. 

Next, Love and Patience came with tender smile, 

And yet more tender care ; — 
Sought in safe order stones afresh to pile. 

Cementing all with prayer. 



"except the lord build," etc. 193 

Storms of an hour some finished portions felled, 

Oft, when the work looked best — 
Still toiled they on, hy failures unrcpelled, 
With beaver's dauntless breast. 

Faith from our council long had held aloof — 

Then, while we paused in fear, 
Unfoldino; drawinsjs with far loftier roof 

Than our poor means could rear, 
She cried, "Oh waste not wealth of hand or 
brain, 

This ruined home to gild, 
All work of man's devising will be vain, 

Unless Jehovah build. 

" 'Tis now when strongest, but a captive' 

cell; 

Soon must thy soul depart. 

In brighter mansion for awhile to dwell, 

Not built through mortal art. 
17 



194 "except the loed build," etc. 

Yet in thine absence, from tlie mould and dust, 

Another home shall spring : 
There will thy Guardian, faithful to His trust, 

The ancient tenant bring. 

" Then find thy solace in yon hastening hour. 

Let Love and Patience think 
That Hill-born breezes come with holier powei 

Through each unlovely chink. 
And though thy neighbor's barns with brim- 
ming sheaves 

Of health and hope be filled. 
Dwell thou unmurmuring beneath broken eaves, 

Till thy Kedeemer build 1" 



THOMAS FULLER ON PINS. 



Once, after lengthened musing, 
Thus wrote a quaint divine : 

How marvellous the using 
Of pins on raiment fine ! 

In size and worth how trifling ! 

A moment's careless boon — 
Yet rough winds would be rifling 

Our robes without them soon. 

How vast their glittering levies ! 

Replenished year by year ; 
Each day, through seam and crevice ; 

What thousands disappear ! 



196 THOMAS FULLER ON PINS. 

And swiftly we replace them, 

Unheeding earlier store, 
Gone where no eye can trace them — 

Alas ! I marvel more 

At men, so brave and sightly. 
Yet in their Maker's Hand 
Held but as pins that slightly 
. Secure some household band. 

Brightly their busy millions, 
Gleam forth, then through the floor 

Of this world's gay pavilions 
Sink, and are seen no more. 

Missed for how brief a season ! 

Mourned by a sorrowing few ; 
Forgotten soon by reason 

Of mourners buried too. 



THOMAS FULLER ON PINS. 197 

No vision may behold them 
On dark path while they go ; 

No human grief enfold them 
Save with a passing show. 

Glad thought ! Though friends have van- 
ished 
Like pins from earthly view, 
God will recall His banished, 
And bid them shine anew I 
17* 



SECOND CAUSES 



When some great grief descends 

On the prone heart, nor lends 
A loop-hole through which light may peer, 

While tiniest stone, once kept 

Secure, by wise adept. 
Had all reversed and ruin were now near — 
We feel what weights of woe depend 
On frailest hair-line that a hreath might 
rend. 

• Might rend, but may not, since 
A Hand too firm to wince 
For man's wild menace, clasps the knot 



SECOND CAUSES. 199 

Where myriad films entwine^ 

And myriad wills combine 
To body forth His will who shapes our lot : 
How then should skill or tortuous plans 
Elude the Look, that all wierd influence scans? 

And could our mole-eyes trace 

Those issues to their place 
In God's true foresight, hushed were then 

All murmurs. Hearts would lie 

Low at His feet, and cry, 
" In love Thou didst it, Loving Lord of Men ! 
Our quivering lips yet kiss Thy rod — 
Our worn feet press no paths, by Thee un- 
trod." 

It was a heathen chief, 
Who heard thy tale of grief. 
And dashed to earth in ire his battle-blade, 



200 



SECOND CAUSE S. 



With vow : " Had I been there — 
I, with my own Franks — ne'er 
Should the meek Victim on that cross have 

staid !" 
Clovis would Roman spears have braved, 
To leave the broad world and himself unsaved! 



THE BUTTERFLY. 



in the neighborhood of Lake Champlain, a beautiful insect was so 
attracted by a lady's singing, as to follow her for some distance, suffer 
itself to be caught, and finally die in her hands. 



Butterfly 1 thy wings are bright 
As they flutter in the calm sunlight, 
And through this fair Sylvan scene. 
Waft thee, like an insect-queen, 
Born her royal home to make 
Close beside the lilied lake. 
With its murmuring waves to play, 
And merrily pass her life's short day. 

What though the summer time be brief. 
Thy plumes will fade before the leaf ; 



202 THE EUTTERFLY, 

What tlioniih in ret>iorjis far from here 
Thou mightest sport 'neath skies more clear, 
Breathe the perfume of countless roses, 
And sip the dew each hud uncloses — 
Would it he a more joyous lot 
Than to dwell in this sequestered spot, 
Watching the wavelets kiss the shore— 
Fhtting in sunshine till life he o'er. 

Sweet are the songs our dear one sings— 

Thou hast folded thy gorgeous wings, 

And sunk in delight, on her arm art thou 

found, 
Fearing to lose one magic «ound. 
Where didst thou learn to love the song, 
And follow the minstrel's steps so long ? 
Hast thou listened to elfin lays 
Sung at eve in the moon's pale rays ? 
Shaken off morning sleep to mark 
Voice of linnet or carol of lark ? 



T U E BUTTERFLY, 203 

Or hath the swell of this tiny sea 
Wakened thy sense of melody ? 

Ah ! the burst of that noble air 
Is more than thy fragile frame can bear : 
It has trembled awhile with responsive thrill 
To each plaintive cadence, each lingering trill, 
Till in mournful pleasure, delicious pain, 
Thou hast sighed out thy life with the last 
refrain. 

Often some gay saloon has rung 
"With glad applause as the lady sung. 
While a flush of -pleasure, a gathering tear, 
Proved the accents of praise sincere ; 
But never till now hath her charmed lay 
Stolen the listener's life away 1 

Well would it be if the wayward heart 
In thy wild devotion had no part ! 



204 THE BUTTERFLY. 

Well, fair insect, if none save thee 
Fronted the perils of ecstacy 1 
Vain idol-lovers ! we weave our bliss 
From the shining films of a world like this, 
Where the sweetest voice and the dearest 

smile 
Only are ours for a little while. 
Soon our golden image shows feet of clay, 
Our gossamer treasure floats far away. 
And then we long to lie down and die- 
Sharing thy fate, poor butterfly I 



SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE. 



" Blameless and fearless." With banner all 

bright, 
Forth to far battle once hurried brave knight, 
Held it unspotted through War's gory rush, 
As a white peak whence paleth the long vesper 

flush. 



" Blameless and fearless'' our ensign shall be, 

For liegemen of Jesus the Sinless are we ; 

No guilt on the conscience, no fear in the soul 

May palsy their might whom His Love hath 

made whole. 

18 



206 SANS PKUB ET SANS EEPKOCHE. 

" Blameless and fearless" that legend's brave 

tone 
Need not ring among ranks of the stalwart 

alone ; 
A child's arm through hole of the sea-dyke 

thrust down 
Once saved from their death-doom the hosts of 

a town. 

" Blameless and fearless." If legion of foes 
Bound the eremite soul in Earth's wilderness 

close, 
While leaning on Jesus, it watcheth all fears, 
With the smile of an infant at glancing of 

spears. 

For the Blameless hath lifted the load of our 

hlame — 
The Fearless through Valley of Horrors once 

came. 



SANS PEUB ET SANS BEPROCHE. 207 

And scattered bright germs in each furrow of 

night J 
For those who have loved Him, to harvest in 

Light. 



HOMELESSNESS. 



Forth among strangers. All! unwelcome word! 

Drear penalty incurred 
By many a mourner, since the first frail pair 
Saw that dear Eden Love had made so fair, 

Flame-barred against their prayer ; 
While the vast expanse they were free to range 

Looked desolate and strange. 

Forth among strangers. To the young in heart 

Tired of inactive part, 
Change seems but gladness- — alien scenes arise, 
Clad in the rosy mist of morning skies ; 

When inexperienced eyes 
Turn gaily to the Future's brightening shore, 

And grieve for home no more. 



nOMELESSKESS. 209 

But when Life's glow hath faded, and the soul 

Cares less for shining goal, 
Than for some bosky shelter by the way, 
To shield for dust- worn eyes the glare of day, 

And cheat Care of his prey ; 
Change ivill look dark, though in its ebon chest 

Grim-carven, jewels rest. 

Pleasant the parlor-brightness, when at eve, 
Unwearying fire-gnomes weave 

Their radiant pictures, ready for a gaze 

Skilled in red hieroglyphs. More bright the 
rays, 
"Which 'neath fond eye-lids blaze 

A beacon-welcome, unto look that knows 
What spell that kind glance throws. 

But sad and heartless to go forth alone, 

Silent as Theban stone 
18* 



210 n O MELESS NESS. 

Dragged by rude Fellah over desert-sand, 
Left un deciphered, till some gentler hand 

Half trace its mystic hrand : 
Then from brief contact, pass with uncon- 
cern — 

This task is hard to learn ! 



Peace, murmuring spirit ! Did thy Lord com- 
plain 
Of far more bitter pain 
Borne in thy service ? Changes though thou 

see. 
What home so full of joy can ever be. 

As that He left for thee ? 
Wliile thy dull nature, unto earth akin. 
Shrinks not as His from sin. 

He chose a manger for His infant head — 
He borrowed his last bed. 



HO MELK S SN ESS . 211 

Yet hatli He power and wisdom — Were it best, 
Proud palace at His beck would claim thee guest, 

And give thee longed-for rest. 
Go ! with His promise cheer each painful mile — 

And wait thy Home, awhile. 



*' WE KXOW NOT WHAT WE SHALL BE." 



'My knowledge of that life is small, 

The eye of faith is dim — 
But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, 
And 1 shall he with llim." Baxtek. 



My day of dreariness and mist 

At length, they tell me, nears the close — 
No cloud of flame and amethyst 

A radiance o'er its ending throws : 
I shall not leave the jDlain of fight 
With shield undarkened, sword of might, 
And stainless plume of conquest dight. 

Slow-moving, as a pilgrim may, 

Too faint with travel, blind with tears, 

To sorrow o'er his disarray. 

Or note how fast the home-light wears, 



"AVE KNOW NOT WHAT," ETC. 213 

Througli weary brain, this thought alone 

Eings with a restful curfew-tone — 

Love leads me, though in paths unknown. 

Yet long unused, from lowland roads 
To gaze on Heaven, I can not scan 
Through glass of power, the calm abodes 
Whose sapphires blaze, unseen of man ; 
Counting their bulwarks, pure as gold, 
Their gem foundations manifold, — 
Enough for me what Christ hath told ! 



Nor, should I reach them, can I tell 

If all the pleasures longed for here. 
And loved ones lost, with song's rich swell 
Shall give me welcome, guest and peer : 
Or if my soul her lamp must trim. 
The Bridegroom meet in night-paths dim, 
And find her bliss, alone with Him. 



214 *'-\VE KNOW NOT WHAT," ETC. 

Hearts, to whose love no toil seems hard, 
No grief o'erwhelming, need not grope, 

As gropes my faith, so long debarred 

From aught save clutch of earthward slope ; 

XJnblenching while they front Heaven's glow. 

Unto my Saviour's feet I go — 

Me it sufficeth, if He know ! 

For He hath promised, man noi fiend 

Shall from His holding wrench apart 
The feeblest who on Him hath leaned. 

And stilled heart-tremblings near His heart. 
Soul, through long years Christ's willing thrall, 
His liegemen throng yon Palace-wall — 
Why shrink from Death, the Seneschal ? 



SOEEOW AND CONSOLATION. 



Long the world a siinlit screen hath woven, 
Sorrow's reahn to veil in twilight clnn ; 

As a mine by midnight toilers cloven, 
All unnoticed shnns the beaming Sun. 

From that world's gay homes her dwellings 
vary ; 

They who lease them breathe an altered air : 
Mirthful beings of these shades are wary, 

Deemino; naught save wailing echoes there. 

Thence if poet's hand the lichens gather, 
Singing of their soft grey hues the while, 

Karely finds he listeners. All would rather 
Hear of blossoms whereon noonbeams smile. 



216 SORROW AND CONSOLATIOlSr. 

Silent Realm of shadows uninviting ! 

Freemen of thy Cities none would be, 
Yet from cressets these dull pathways lighting. 



OJ 



Solace falls on some who cannot flee. 



Sorrow's world, like sister worlds, revolveth 
Calmly through far space on balanced j)oles ; 

And auroral light around them solveth 
Life's dark symbols to reliant souls. 

From the North the brilliant mcssatre coming; 

Calls to every mourner — " Time is short, 
Care not for chill ice-breath, joy benumbing. 

While thy sails are set for golden Port." 

And from Southern Pole a quiet whisper 
Saith more softly — " 'Tis thy Father's will, 

Cannot loving heart of infant lisper 
Trust a Father's love to work no ill T' 



SORROW AND CONSOLATION. 217 

Sorrow's seal of consolation bearetli 
Like devices, won from each far Pole ; 

Sorrow's 'scutcheon for supporters weareth 
These, as pillars lifting high her scroll. 

But a trained eye alone can read them : 
Who the heraldry of grief will scan. 

Till his fond hopes fall, with none to heed them ; 
Till he moves, a lonely, sorrowing man ? 

Then its legends bring, on breath of blessing, 
Thoughts to gayer spirits full of gloom ; 

And he shrinks not, from their chill addressing, 
Then, like one who stumbles o'er a tomb. 

" Time is short." Glad sound for heart that 

grieveth ; 

Brief the space, ere tears of earth will dry I 

"'Tis the Will of God :" so Faith achieveth 

Noblest deeds, beneath His chastening eye. 
19 



SPEING VIOLETS. 



Thrice welcomej gentle strangers ! Say, 

What tokens do ye bring, 
From southern realms where flowers are gay, 

Sweet violets of Spring ? 

Queen Summer's heralds ! have ye sped, 

Before her path of bloom, 
A broidered mantle to outspread, 

And give her feet soft room ? 

Or do your purple buds have birth. 
Ere the tyrant Storm-breath goes, 

To braid Hoj)e's tri-color for Earth, 
With snow-drop and primrose ? 



SPRIISTG VIOLETS. 219 

Or are your tearful blossoms bent, 

Witb sucli a weight of dew, 
For human dreams of gladness, meant 

To fall and fade like you ? 

Or come you not, to tell us how, 

A meek and lowly mind, 
Though far above it wild winds sough, 

True blessedness may find. 

In every spot where God says, " Live !" 

Such mind from dusty ways 
And from untrodden paths, may give 

Its quiet voice of praise ? 

Oh ! could we but reflect, like you, 

Our Father's loving smile — 
On sun-bright lawn to Him be true, 

And true in dark defile — 



220 SPRING VIOLETS. 

Vain were the wish to mount on high 
With eagle's tireless wing ; 

For Heaven within our hearts would lie- 
Sweet violets of Spring ! 



DEAL GENTLY WITH THY SEEVANT, 
LOED ! 



Gently, ah !• gently, Lord ! for Thou art 
strong — 
Strong with Infinitude — and I am frail ; 
let my want avail ! 
Deal with me gently ! leave me not among 
Sin's wild weird shadows, of my soul ab- 
horred — 

Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 

And yet I ask not joy should be allowed 

To build rare sun-bows o'er my saddened 

bead. 

From tears I long have shed : 
19* 



222 DEAL GENTLY, LOKD. 

Sunlight would dazzle one so used to cloud 
And sea-spray. Give but footing while I ford ! 
G-ently, ah gently, Lord ! 

Life hath no pain, Thy presence will not cheer: 
But Thy felt presence fades too oft in pain ; 
And pale hands feebly strain 
To clasp thy robe, when only cloud seems 
near — 
Thy cloud of judgment, cold as death-fraught 
sword — 

Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 

For in Thy frown is horror. Fiends withdraw 
When Thou art smiling ; but with endless file 
Close in when fades Thy smile. 
Oh Shield of Israel ! let Thy kindness awe 
My soul from sinning ; hear my sighs long- 
poured — 

Gently, ah gently, Lord I 



DEAL GENTLY, LOED. 223 

I plead, as one enthralled in labyrinth. 
Who with numb fingers scarce can hold the clue ; 
Whose bleeding feet oft rue 
The unseen pitfall, or the jagged plinth : — 
Take Thou my hand, and in it keep Faith's 
cord — 

Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 

I know Thy ways are right, but I am blind, 
And faint with year-long groping. One sure 
touch 

Of Thine, would heal so much 
Of doubt and sorrow, which no balsam find 
Save of Thy blending. Then relief afford — 
Gently, ah gently. Lord ! 

Send Peace or Patience ! Patience to believe, 
Though Peace be hidden, till Death's opening 
hinge 

Bid her clear rose-lamp tinge 



224 



DEAL GENTLY, LORD. 



The Bridegroom's vesture; while glad angels 
weave 
Crowns for the comers to His festal hoard — 
Gently, ah gently, Lord ! 



THE LONELY CHEISTMAS. 



I DWELL apart, with aged heart, 

Though bhthe young forms about me 
Trace out no plan on Pleasure's chart. 

They deem complete without me. 
And this is well. In lonely shell 

Why seek love's pearl to smother ? 
When through this world its gleam may tell 

Love's brilliance in Another ? 

Among the rest, with smile and jest, 

I mingle, differing only 
In silent thoughts of some who blest 

My life, but left me lonely. 
Their loss, through years of longing tears. 

Mine upward vision blinded ; 



226 THE LONELY CHRISTMAS 

I looked on graves, and shrouds, and biers — 
So now I am not minded. 

Ah, no ! through each fast-widening breach 

In home-ranks Time disbandeth, 
I view a white-robed army reach 

The Throne-Koom where He standetli ; 
Whose Infant-Breath thro' world of death 

Sent Life's glad current bounding ; 
Whose Love-in-Death to mourners saith, 

" All grief My love is rounding !" 

And festal glee, once sad to me. 

This Faith in Him can hallow ; 
While hung in Christmas boughs I see 

A nest of Hopes yet callow — 
That chirp and sing, ere long to spring 

And waft, on full-grown pinion, 
My lonely soul, where Love's true King 

Hath opulent dominion. 



SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 



Out of the Sunlight, into the shade, 
Move without muiTQuring, unaffrayed 1 
He, who leads thee thither. 
Knows what flowers would wither 
Earliest underneath the ray, 
Of intensely glorious day. 
Not from ridges hilly 
Eiseth Hope's white lily ; 
Glades where runnels wind and turn 
Oftenest shelter Faith's low fern ; 
And Love's moss hath greener tint 
Where the Day-heams rarely glint. 



228 SUADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 

Then^ since gentle Christian graces 
Burgeon best in shadowy places ; 
Grieve not, if thy course be laid 
Out of the sunlight — into the shade. 



Out of the Shadow — into the Sun ! 
Changes the call, when once growth is avou ! 

And no fear, lest blossoms wither, 

Clouds the angels' hest " Come hither." 
Faith and Hope and Love blaze soon 
All unharmed in Heaven's broad noon, 

God's own glory blending. 

There, His grace unending 
Streams, in radiance soft as dew. 
On souls that tribulation knew ; 
These, in cave and dungeon's night, 
Struggled, ere they soared to light — 
Yet a little space, and thou, 
Shiverins in the sloamine: now. 



SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 229 

Wilt behold their martyr-faces, 

Share their peace in heavenly places, 

And pass forever — with Christ made one — 

Out of the Shadow — into the Sun ! 
20 



IN THE CITY OF EEFUGE. 



The blood of souls is on my hand — 
A stain no grief will clear away ; 

My days from peace are rightly bann'd, 
Since, traveling on the world's highway, 

Each smouldering fire I left unfann'd, 
Each reed unlifted, where it lay. 

I can recall unholy deeds 

And wayward musings — offerings lame — 

The look that shunn'd a brother's needs- 
Love of man's praising— fear of blame — 

And careless words, like poison-weeds 
Stifling the wishes Faith might frame. 



IN THE CITY OF REFUGE. 231 

But as an ocean-column rears 

Its crest of gloom, and seamen scares, 

With sullen frown and murmurs fierce, 

Thus o'er me, darkening dreams and prayers, 

Hangs in a cloud I cannot pierce, 
Mine evil done at unawares. 

Safe though my own poor life may be, 
Enwalled in bulwarks sure and strong ; 

Thence baffled though the avenger flee. 
Yet thoughts of grief must rankle long, 

"While in his grasp of doom I see 

Friends left unwarned of woe and wrong. 

Ah blessed lives ! whence float afar 

The seeds of blessing, heaven-difiiised — 

No futile pangs your memories scar. 
For time and treasure, loans unused ; 

Foreshadowing now the Final Bar, 
And sounds of wailing, self-accused. 



232 IN TUB CITY OF REFUGE. 

High-Priest and Judge, Thy dying breath 
Plead for unconscious guilt. Oh see, 

How souls I warned not, throng to death : 
Dear Lord, thy power can make them flee, 

While yet the Avenger lingereth. 

Back to their Refujre-home — to Thee 1 



ANOTHER GRIEF. 



Against my heart as with a gauntlet knocking, 

Another Grief is here : 
I know the sound, and sj^ring with eager locking 

To keep my threshold clear ; 
But Grief loill enter, wild refusal mocking 

And barrier-arm of fear. 

Oh were my heart an Inn, where like a Palmer 
Grief some short hours would stay. 

With Eastern odors prove a Thought-embalmer; 
And reckoning more than pay. 

Through one sweet grain to hold me purer, 

calmer. 

Left, w^hen it passed away ; 
20* 



234 AKOTHEE GEIEF. 

I could come forth^ with loyal gaze beholding 
Tokens each new Grief brings ; 

Take from Love's last bright lamp the silver 
moulding, 
Claimed for the King of Kings ; 

And yet believe the robe of serge enfolding 
An angel's radiant wings. 

But now as in a vault 'neath gray church-altar, 

My hurried Sorrows lie ; 
"While I have learned to join in hymn and psalter, 

As though no tombs were nigh ; 
To pace the aisles with feet that rarely falter, 

And passive, tearless eye. 

How can I bear another Grrief to marsha 
Down to that place of fears ? — 

Where Griefs not dead, but lulled in stillness 
partial, 
(The death-like swoon of years 



ANOTHEE GEIEF. 235 

Dispelled at once by torch-gleam shining far) 
shall 
Move on their quiet hiers — 

Move on their biers, and rising, throng around 
me, 
Each half-forgotten ghost, 
Pale with the thorn-band whereof Time dis- 
crowned me. 
Asking, in silent boast, 
"Art thou come down to loosen chains that 
bound me 
Among this vanquished host ?" 

Oh, faithless dreamer ! not with message cruel, 

But, breathing tenderness. 
Comes every Grief to thee, — God's signet jewel 

Each wore, its work to bless — 
Nor, though with anguish seems thy life a duel, 

Wish thou one courier less I 



236 ANOTHER GRIEF. 

For all were needed, all some due monition 

To thee in love address'd ; 
And then, rejoicing in their closed mission, 

Lay, white-robed, down to rest, 
As martyr souls, in Apostolic vision, 

Await their Lord's behest. 

And thou at last, the long sad lessoning ended. 

Thy Vault of Griefs wilt see 
Changed to a Court, by shining ranks defended : 

And their All-Hail shall be 
The angelic Gloria in Excelsis, blended 

With peace — ^good-will to thee ! 



OUR BEOKEN VINE. 



Thkough years of growth we twined, with 
gentlest care, 

All tendrils fair — 
Marking their j)romise, may-fly plucked, and 
worm 

From leaf and germ — 
And planted, where east wind were earliest felt 
A close larch-belt. 

Our thoughts went onward till, with Time's 
advance, 

Green leaves should dance 
O'er our south lattice, and sun-checkered flow 

Of vine-shade throw — 



288 OUB BROKEN VINE. 

Well was it for our peace we could not see 
Things soon to be ! 

For in the night-time near our vine's light frame, 

Despoilers came, 
And low in dust the shielding arbor laid 

Our toil had made : 
From sleep secure we rose, to grieve at morn 

O'er life-veins torn ; — 

To strive in vain from ruin to uplift, 

With anxious thrift ; 
And a soft purple bloom anew to gain 

For clusters slain. 
Not for our old age now will strong boughs 
shoot 

Their wealth of fruit. 

Foiled in our plannings, shall we spend in tears 
These blightful years ? 



OUR BROKEN VINE. 239 

Nay ! One yet lives whose skill decay can stop, 

With deathless prop, 
And through the enclosure where our vine lies 
low. 

His step we know. 

Oh Hand of Love ! once wounded, lift and 
prune 

Our treasure soon ! 
And from dark midnight foes, in wait to steal, 

The saved fruit seal ! 
To Thee ! Heart of Pity ! we resign 

Our broken Vine ! 



UNCLOTHED. 



Yield up now the kingly purple, long the 
birthright of thy pride — 

View the eyes that sought thy greeting, coldly 
droop or turn aside — ^ 

Let the presence, once so regal, lose the rose- 
lined cloak of Wealth — 

From the slender form it shielded, lift the fair 
white tunic, Health. 



Next unwind the broidered girdle, long en- 
circling heart and frame, 

With the genial warmth of Friendship — with 
the royal zone — Good Name ; 



UNCLOTHED. 241 

Then unfasten clasp and armlet, and strip off 

yet costlier things : 
From thy head Hope's crown of beauty, from 

thy hand Love's golden rings. 



Yet more penury thou needest : from thy spirit 

take the cheer, 
That, with shield of Faith, undaunted faced 

the armaments of Fear ; 
Till from eye fades look of calmness, till from 

lip fades smile of trust — 
While thy friends have home and pleasaunce, 

let thy place he low in dust. 



But remember all thus taken was thy willing- 
hearted gift, 
When before thy Saviour kneeling, thou in 

Love's first glad unthrift, 
21 



242 UNCLOTHED. 

Saidst, " Dear Lord, I can but offer all I have 

or hope to be ; 
Give the worldling this world's treasure — craves 

my spirit none but Thee !" 



And each joy unclaimed while left thee, hung 

on tenure of His will : 
Hath the glow of first love faded ? — pledge 

and promise bind thee still. 
Darest thou mourn that robes and relics of old 

idols strew the sod ? 
Darest thou murmur through thy mourning — 

"I have nothing left but God r 



CLOTHED UPON 



When the cross, assumed, it may be, Hglitly, 
On weak nature leans with galling weight ; 
When thy heart-sins, grieved for once but 
slightly, 
Kise dilating, shrouding e'en Heaven's 
gate ; 

Desert-days recall ! Thy Lord was tempted, 
Left a target for the Fiend alone, 

Left till all weird stores of malice emptied — 
Pomp and pageant with their Prince had 
flown. 



244 CLOTHED UPON". 

Earely yet, wliile circled jest and laughter, 
Felt one heart the influence angels* bring : 

Silence first must fall. That silence after. 
Comes caress of peace from radiant wing. 

If rough hand of Pain fair limnings cancel, 
From thy Hall of Life, once fresco-hright. 

Let the broad blank sjoace enclose a chancel ; 
Holy laws of Love Ground it write. 

Seems thy nature worthless, dark, unable 
For man's good — God's glory — aught to plan.!^ 

There, as on a background densely sable, 
Grace in full effulgence, all may scan. 

Think, though bungler palette needs, and pencils 
Fashioned, ere he paint, by faultless rule ; 

Shapes false contours oft with fine utensils. 
And for fault and failure blames his tool — 

* There is a German superstition that when a circle of friends 
become silent, an angel is passing among them, and the one who first 
breaks silence, has been touched by the angel's wing. 



CLOTHED UPOIS. 245 

Yet a cliarred wand, near true Artist lying, 
In liis grasp all deft an outline draws, 

Where, forms of truth, at once descrying, 
Untaught eye must give its prompt applause. 

'Tis thy Master's hand each color chooses — 
Though as yet no gold or crimson glow 

In thy life, with darker shade, He fuses— 
Thou his full designing canst not know, 

Kude the sketch may seem, yet if, when finished 
Smirch and flaw in soft haze disappear ; 

If by test of Heaven's blaze undiminished 
Lights scarce noted gleam from centres clear, 

Thou wilt own how things whose touch abases. 

Though like charcoal dust, of man flung by, 

May God's power, in long undreamed of phases, 

As with diamond splendor glorify. 
21* 



A GARDEN THOUGHT. 



With fence of blossom, leaf and briar, 
The Summer folds from view 

Yon gleaming river, belfry spire. 
And half the hill-range blue. 

Yielding of late, from dawn to night, 

My winter-wearied gaze delight. 

Yet soft the shade in leafy niche, 

And lovingly a scent 
From briar and blossom comes to witch 

With fragrance, till, content, 
I peer not through my woodland screen 
To note the haze on heights serene. 



A GARDEN THOUGHT. 247 

And if, from landscape of my life 
The wintry look miglit go — 
If lawn and leaf, with sweetness rife, 

Keplaced the year-long snow- 
Then, doubtless, were more rarely conn'd 
Far splendors of the Hills beyond. 

EouND Hill, Mass. 



1 



HAVELOCK AT ALUMBAGH. 



Soldier ! along wliose tropic way 

Of sun-glare, lay 
Prayers, strewn like blossoms for decay — 
No lonely leaf or petal lost, 
Hereafter those now trampled most, 

In depth of Hindoo mould. 
Will more luxuriant buds unfold 

To grace the gladsome day. 
When Earth's dark tribes, no longer far astray, 
To Him of many crowns salaam of heart shall 
pay. 

Slowly the sea-winds waft along 
Praise warm and strono; : 



HAVELOCK AT ALUMBAGH. 249 

But pale he lies, to whom belong 

A nation's thanks, though round him swell 

Echoes from home-launched caravel. 

Ah, tardy-winged ! one day 
Of hastier flight through storm and spray, 

And the brave heart had known 
How England's heart throbbed fast from hut 

to throne, 
With love and pride and sorrow, henceforth all 
his own. 



O'er tent and tower falls noontide glare 

Of Indian air ; 
But on one calm brow sheltered there 
Never shall sunbeams smite again — 
Foot-march or toil of battle pain. 

For the field-weary head 
There is a safe pavilion spread : 

Prayers for his dear life, o'er 



250 HAVELOCK AT ALUM BAG 11. 

Its tliresliold faltering, found him passed be- 
fore. 

Found, too, their own true meaning — hfe for 
evermore ! 

Nor on thy last puissant deed — 

Babes, mothers, freed, 
While Moslem shapes and swords recede, 
Alone with deepening love we think — ■ 
But ratlier with thy life-work link 

Faith, that in sleep-snatched hour 
Won at the Cross its shield of power — 
Pagoda, whence the strain 
Of prayer went up, that not one idol-fane 
With spot of shade might fleck the Sun of 
Christ's broad reign. 

Long sank thy fame, like cereus-bloom 

In bed of gloom. 
Its fibres for one hour's perfume : 



HAVELOCK AT ALUMBAGH. 251 

Then with, rich fragrance filled Earth's room, 
And lingers deathless round thy tomb. 

From the unobtrusive root 
Only at midnight flowers might shoot. 
And careless eyes now weep 
Because thro' years imperill'd, dim with sleep 
O'er plant so precious, they no watch of love 
could keep. 

Yet, as in ancient Spanish scenej 

Love crowned the queen 
Whose sweet life ebbed, her rank unseen,— 
Thus, Warrior ! Christian hearts endow 
Thy memory, though among us thou 

Wilt never move, to hear 
High magnates' greeting, people's cheer. 
Nor voices, dearer far, 
Whose silence could even Khineland's beauty 

mar; 
That rose o'er war's wild clash, as o'er cloud- 
seas some star. 



252 havelock: at alumbagu. 

Thy loyal heart, with odorous gum 

Of fame, would come 
To Jesus' feet, and hush the hum 
Of earthly-praise. To Him we leave 
Thy bliss — our anthem's loudest breve 
Lost in His word, "Well done !" 
Unheeded, in His joy begun. 

Tried Kuler, henceforth dwell 
Not in a treason-haunted citadel — 
Rule thou o'er ransomed tribes of realms where 
none rebel 1 



EIVER BURIAL. 



They buried their Chief in the river, 

Watching the dark wave close 
O'er sins of its first fame-giver — 

Over his long-borne woes. 

Oft, on my own strength squandered, 

Tracing out pathways drear, 
I muse, as De Soto pondered 

On red foes ambushed near ; 

Till weary and faint with the fever, 

Breathed in from a swamp-like world. 

With search for Earth's golden lever, 

Through tangles where snakes lie curled ; 
22 



254 KIVEK BURIAL. 

Back to my couch of repentinoc, 

Friends of old years I call ; 
Hope ! Love ! hear my heart's relenting- 

Faith ! Courage ! how needed all ! 

Under this midnight of sorrow, 
Lit by Heaven's starlight clear, 

Your hands must a grave-place borrow, 
And straighten my Past on its bier. 

Visions of joy from Youth's quiver 
Hasting o'er valley and hill, 

Bury ye low in the Kiver, 
Of God my Eedeemer's Will ! 

Fears 'neath whose mist diurnal, 
Ever my chilled thoughts cower, 

Calm be their sleep, and eternal, 
In the broad flood of His Power ! 



RIVEK BURIAL. 255 

Lower than tliese shall be buiietl 

Self, while in trance it lies — 
Lest its longings, a phalanx serried, 

Wake np, with revengeful cries. 

So perish all foes that grimly 

Pillow of frail heart liaunt ! 
They are gone — yet that heart still dimly 

Quails, conscious of deeper want ; 

Till the Saviour, strong to deliver, 

Bending her couch above. 
Shall bury her sins in a river — 

The River of God's free Love ! 



ICONOCLASM. 



Thkough the fair Cathedral of thy Home 

Have Idol-breakers rushed ? 
Lie saint, and jeweled shrine, and dome, 

In one dark ruin crushed ? 
Did Sorrows, in malignant swarm, 
At once from gate to belfry storm. 
And hast thou stood appalled to hear their hum. 
While waiting for the worst, thyself a statue 
dumb ? 

In dreary silence, dost thou gaze 

On wreck of all things dear. 
Feeling familiar notes of praise 

Grate harshly on thine ear 1 



ICONOCLASM. 257 

Doubting if ever through the fane 
Can incense-bearers stream again ; 
Or pleasant pictures, bright with human love, 
Bear, on assumption-clouds, thy soul toward 
heaven above ? 

Slight are the causes, frail, unfeared, 

That desolation bring ; 
Shrines through a life-time's toil upreared 

One day may downward fling : 
And still the shell of home be there, 
The void within — ^how bleak and bare ! 
When nooks, wherein of old we knelt to pray, 
Are lost for ever — dashed in one brief hour 
away. 

And yet, if Christ's forgotten Word, 

Though while from missal sung 
It trembled on the air unheard, 

Now teach in household tongue : 



258 ICONOCLASM. 

If shattered idols yield their place 
To Him, whose meek unpictured Face 
Smiles ou us ever — will we but invoke 
His aid, His presence — then how needful each 
rough stroke ! 

'Tis through His will the homes we love 

Are rifled, lest they hold 
Some chapel toward whose fair alcove 

Thoughts turn, as sheep to fold. 
There is a safer, holier fane ! 
Its glory no assault may stain. 
Why stand we gazing here on vacant niche. 
When angels show the Home, beyond imagin- 
ing rich ? 



NEVEE PRAY FOR TRIALS. 



Blooms thy life like a vale-born lily, 
Shielded from storms by coppice shade ? 

Crave not the coming of Frost-breath chilly 
To show thee strong although Smnmer fade, 
Nor sigh for change ! 



Nor sigh for change ! In gladness bask — 
To smile and bud thy joyful task. 
It is not hard while days are bright 

To know and feel the Sunbeams near ; 
But Faith, till now unfaltering, might 

Bend with the blast, were darkness here. 



260 NEVER PRAY FOR TRIALS. 

Should gardener's hand that coppice hew, 
And give wild winds of trial room, 

Thy dying roots might long for dew. 
Thy leaves for roof of cedarn gloom. 

And white hells wilting, calyx torn, 

The peace once undervalued mourn. 

Soars hope of thine on dove-like pinion ? 

And sings thy heart in carol sweet ? 
Call not that heart an idle minion 

For whom rough hours of pain were meet, 
Nor si2;h for chans:e ! 



For change is comino^. Lonf^: and dark 
Thy galley toil may prove. Some mark 
Of anguish like our Lord's, must lie 

On each wan forehead, would we gain 
His City's freedom, ere we die. 

And if as yet no touch of pain 



NEVER PRAY FOR TRIALS. 261 

Have marred tliy visage, let liim choose 
What hour He pleases, to imprint 

The signing none He loves may lose — 
The seal imworn by flxce of flint ! 

Pray not for trials ! meekly range 

Through mercies left — nor sigh for change ! 



THE STAELESS CROWN. 



(She lay upon a dying bed, 

And down her cheeks sad tears were flowing- 
Not in lament for youthful head 

Beneath the turf so early going. 
The maiden knew, from Jesus' love 

No mound of earth her soul might sever ; 
And in His presence longed to prove 

Fulness of peace forever. 

Yet on that orh-like joy arose 

One gloom-spot half the radiance marring : 
No rescued soul from rank of foes 

Won for her Lord, her crown was starring. 



THE STARLESS CROWN. 263 

She had not toiled, like some who flee, 
To use brief sj^ace ere curfew's tolling ; 

And o'er her mind a billowy sea 
Of late remorse came rolling. 

Grief-laden tale ! through heart of mine 

The dead girl's shivered lance now bearing 
To rouse the thought — When souls resign 

Their worn-out mail, for home preparing. 
Shall I through Pearly Gate alone 

Pass to my rest, no saved one leading ; 
While angels marvel, " Are there none 

Lost through her lukewarm pleading ?" 

1 cannot tell. A wayside word 

From happier lips, may fall supinely 

In good soil, to spring unheard. 

And bloom at length in bliss divinely ; 

While costly cedars oft will droop 
In sunniest nook of pleasaunce planted, 



264 THE STARLESS CROWN. 

And die, though cares around them group, 
And prayer each root hath haunted. 

Still, from my being's depth there ci'ies 

One wish, o'er all dear wishes reigning — 
(Like fibrous gold that underlies 

All earth-clods with its own clear veining) 
To form my Lord but one fair shaft. 

And leave it in His saintly quiver, 
Then pass away, as broken haft 

Sinks down in silent river. 

Once sated with that glorious spoil — 

That seen reward thus crowning labor, 
Outweighing all Life's battle-toil, 

Or anguish keen as thrust of sabre — 
A SOUL REDEEMED ! Complaint must die, 

Though ills like thorns on cactus thicken ; 
In dull heart's core no joy could lie. 

That whisper would not quicken, 



THE STARLESS CKOWN. 265 

Wait — wait — too eager Will ! and learn 

O'er seed when sown 'tis vain to hover, 
And, with a child's impatience, turn 

The loam of young blade's darksome cover. 
Be thou content, if every eve 

Some work of Love, thy faith adorning, 
Lie buried with the Sun, and leave 

Glad issues until Morning ! 
23 



ANCHOEED, YET WEARY 



Acts xxvii. 29. 



Anchored, yet weary, and wishing for day, 
For a glimpse of the harbor where home-ban- 
ners play, 
For the brightness lining Death's solemn cloud, 
And for faith to enter, by fear unbowed. 

Were youth's islets sunny, long left behind ? 
Ah ! tears well fast while we call to mind 
How dazzling the ripples that near them lay — 
We are anchored, yet weary, and wishing for 
day. 



ANCHOKED, YET WEAEY. 267 

Yet fairer the sunlight that lies before, 

On the cloud-veiled Hills our Eedeemed ex- 
plore : 

But ere timbrels can triumph, hang storm- 
winds and spray 

Round the anchored, yet weary, and wishing 
for day. 

Would yon Hills seem fair, but for tempest's 

frown? 
With the Cross uplifted, who hails the Crown? 
Not in smooth seas will the mariner stay ' 
Anchored, yet weary, and wishing for day. 

Like the saint on whose eyelash hung ever a tear, 
Though his smile was radiant with glory near ; 
Heaven's joy and Earth's gloom interlacing 

alway. 
Leave us" anchored, yet weary, and wishing for 

day. 



PKAYER OF ONE NO LONGER 
PRAYED FOR. 



Pkayers poured forth in saintly alms, 

Once this feeling heart made stronger ; 
Gave my dead joys burial-balms : 

Now they soothe no longer. 

Lips on whose dear prayers we lean, 
Press in turn the chalice, Sorrow : 

Friends who wept our woes yestreen, 
Weep their own to-moiTow. 

Quickly though that cup pass on, 
Tarrieth long the wormwood essence ; 

Gay hearts deem its memory gone 
Ere one g-all-taste lessens. 



NO LONGER PRAYED FOR. 269 

In the earlier lioiirs of woe, 

All who loved me shared my grieving — 
Prayers, with tears in precious flow, 

Half my loss retrieving ; 

While my fainting soul they bore 
Near to Heaven on wings of praying, 

Made her feel, through crystal door, 
Warmth and splendors straying. 

Sweet, while undissolved her swoon, 

There to lie, quiescent, lowly ! 
Came the awakening all too soon ; — 

Earthward sinking slowly. 

Sounds of tumult broke with jar 

Koughly on my balmed musing — 

Prayerful echoes died afar, 

Mine in new grief losing. 
23* 



270 PRAYER OF ONE 

Then the storms of Earth rushed in, 

Whirled and howled from hearth to case- 
ment — 

Fiery cords of discipline 
Lashed to self-abasement. 

Now for interceding word, 

That like Heaven-born air refreshes, 
Pa,nts my soul, as pants a bird 

Beating wiry meshes. 

If but one true heart alone 

Sought the solace I am needing, 

Soon were hope and succor won 
Pledged to that fond pleading. 

One true heart ? Ah weary breast ! 

Crave no draught from goblet earthen ; 
He whose glance can grief arrest 

Views thy veiled burthen. 



NO LONGEB PKAYED FOR. 271 

Champion who, in legends hoar, 
Gazed on Holy Cup of Sorrow, 

Through his after-quest forbore 
Help of man to borrow. 

If for thee the San Grail shine, 

Drink ! the touch of Christ remaineth : 
He shall find its bitter Avine 

Sweet, with Christ who reigneth. 



COUNT LOUIS OF NASSAU. 



" Count Louis, finding that the day was lost, and his army all cut to 
pieces, rallied around him a little band of troopers, among whom were 
his brother Count Henry, and Duke Christopher, son of the Elector Pala- 
tine, and together they made a final and desperate charge. It was the 
last that was ever seen of them on earth. They all went down together 
in the midst of the fight, and were never heard of more. 

" It is difficult to find in history a more frank and loyal character. 

All who knew him loved him His mother always addressed 

him as her dearly beloved, her heart's cherished Louis. ' You must 
come soon to me,' she wrote in the last year of his life, ' for I have many 
matters to ask your advice upon, and I thank you beforehand that you 
have loved me as your mother all the days of your life, for which may 
God Almighty have you in His holy keeping.' 

"The Prince of Orange, meanwhile passed days of intense anxiety, 
expecting hourly to hear from his brothers, listening to dark rumors 
which he refused to credit, and could not contradict, and writing letters 
day after day, long after the eyes which should have read the friendly 
missives were closed." Kisb of the Dutou Kepublio. 



Another niglit is near, 
Yet home they come not. Must the Eachael-cry 
Of heart-pang, hastening down from earliest 

year, 
rind sad renewal over pall and bier 

Where patriot heroes lie ? 



COUKT LOUIS OF NASSAU. 273 

Fields have been lost before. 
Let but one precious life be safe as then, 
And free hearts will not grudge their jeweled 

store, 
Nor free hands fail their Chiefs fresh path to bore 

Through Alva's close-ranked men. 

Between him and the foe 
Some river doubtless runs, as ran erewhile 
The Ems' bright wave. His mother soon shall 

know 
That frank, kind voice, more dear than music's 
flow- 
Soon hail her darling's smile. 

A thousand perils pass'd — 
And all look shallow — then, too oft we find 
Their depth unfathomed. She has looked her last 
On those clear eyeS' — on hands that wove so fast 

Thought threads of warrior mind. 



274 COUNT Lotris of nassau. 

The Silent Prince hath seen 
All summer friends from tryst and council fade ; 
While brothers' love and truth still rose, be- 
tween 
His heart and the cold world, an evergreen 
Of belting winter shade. 

But Love can never lay 
Those forms so cherished in cathedral crypt, 
Nor press long kisses on beloved clay — 
That clay to dust will moulder, far away 

By band of sjooilers stripp'd. 

Not safer did they lie 
"Where old Crusaders planted Syrian sward !* 
All fields are holy where believers die — ' 
Cross-overshadowed, sunned by wakeful Eye 

Of Death's triumphant Lord. 

* The Cnmpo Santo of Pisa, was covered with earth brought from 
Palestine by the earlier crusaders. 



COUNT LOUIS OF NASSAU. 275 

Thougli angels have not borne 
Those dear ones home, as once from Sinai's 

steep, 
They a dead pilgrim to the Khine ere morn 
Bare, that fond sister's touches might adorn 

And sister-voices weep : 

Yet to an Altar-Home 
The Spirits of our Martyrs have been led ; 
With palm and robe invested, washed from 

loam 
Of worldly strife, and 'neath celestial Dome 

Wait, with the kingly Dead, 

For all who pass away 
While scourge and smoke-wreath twist their 

chariot line ; 
For all whose heart-scourge, falling but to flay, 
Gives through a long life scarce one holiday — 

Poor mother ! such was thine 1 



I WILL GIVE HIM THE MOENING 
STAK. 

Bev., chap, ii., v. 23. 



" Where may lia2:)pier lot be seen 
Than hath crowned my soul's fair queen ? 
Flowers spring up where'er she strayeth— • 
Only sunshine round her playeth ; 
Yet the flowers and sunshine free, 
Look not half so bright as she. 

" LatG; she raised her dreaming eye 
To a sister-star on high ; 
And I prayed, with murmur lov/, 
* Ah, my own love, gaze not so 1 
Glorious though yon star may be, 
Eor I cannot give it thee/ " 



THE MORNING STAR. 277 

Thus, oppressed by mournful sense 
Of his proud heart's iniDotence, 
Once, an earthly lover, sighing, 
"Weighed the love he deemed undying, 
Found it infinite in will— 
Feeble to avert one ill. 

Well may higher Love rejoice 

In the Heavenly Bridegroom's voice ; 

He, a universe surveying, 

Far-off worlds His sign obeying, 

Saith to all who faithful are — 

" I will give the Morning-Star \" 

Star of Faith ! serene and strong, 
Comrade of that Angel song. 
Whose rich harmony, descending 
O'er meek swains their folds defending, 
Silence filled with joy, and night 
With a rush of al-gent light ; — 
24 



278 THE MORNING STAR. 

Lead us, as thou ledd'st of yore, 
Magian from his midnight lore — - 
From the Crucible of Thought, 
"Where he long solution sought 
Of Life's problems, dark and lorn — 
To the Babe in Beth-le-hem born 1 

Star of Christ ! unvalued gift ! 
Gleaming down the abysmal rift 
Where the world's vain pomp and clamor 
Chain us with resistless glamor ; 
Win our love from fame and pelf — 
From the veiled idol — Self 1 

Cease not o'er these hearts to throw 
Kadiant leash. Love's path to show, 
Till their frail and fleshly awning 
Kend, and thus reveal the dawning 
Of a Day no night can mar — 
Heralded by Morning-Star 1 



BY THE BRINK OF THE EIVEE., 



They laid me by the Elver's brink 

Long, very long ago, 
And " Jesus will not let you sink, 

Be fearless" — whispered low. 

So near me drew the Pilot, Death, 

So close the waters came, 
It seemed on each ice-laden breath 

Hung heavily my name. 

And once — it was a wondrous view— - 
My pain-worn eyes espied 

A magnet star-wreath, strong to woo 
The soul to yonder side. 



280 BY THE BRINK OF THE K I V E B. 

But years went by, and still unheard 
The call we deemed so near, 

And still, thro' secret sign deterred, 
The Pilot left me here. 

Left me, yet in the busy field 
Of toil, where God is served, 

Not to go forth again, and wield 
The sickle whence I swerved. 

Left me, in silence and alone, 

To muse and marvel, why 
So many in their bloom have gone 

While I unsummoned lie. 

Kind faces that my wan mouth kiss'd, 
And prayed " God speed her home 1" 

Have blended with the River's mist, 
Like sun-bows with sea^foam. 



BY THE ERIXK OP THE RIVER. 281 

It may be, holier hearts would watch 
Till through you cloud-veil dim 

Turrets of gold shone out, and catch 
The songs of Seraphim. 

• 

For this my faith is far too weak, 

My S23irit- wings are soiled ; 
They cannot cleave the mist, and seek 

The Light within it coiled. 

Nor dare I from the water's edge 
Bright thoughts, like lilies glean ; 

Too swift thy roll, too rank thy sedge, 
stream of the Unseen ! 

Tet, like the chiming of far hells 

That chime from viewless shore. 

Sometimes a waft of music swells 

Above the waves' uproar. 
24* 



282 BY THE BRINK OF THE RIVEE. 

That sound, though, seldom heard, hath 
dulled 

The stirring tunes of Earth, 
And made her songs, once foldly culled, 

Seem now of slender worth. 

Thus, for the mandate of my Prince, 

I look and linger still ; 
Useless, and yet unmurmuring, since 

I know it is His Will. 



L'EN vol. 



While softly upon Earth's chill hreast 

The quiet snow-flakes pour, 
Her look, beneath that hueless vest, 

Grows drearier than before ; 
Yet the fast-showering crystals wrap 
With love the riches of her lap : 

And when long hours of sunlight come 
Shall turf and woodland pay 

With lavish blossoms — bees' glad hum — 
For Winter's white array, 

That fostered, in its mantle warm 

All charms of fragrance, hue and form. 



284 l' ENVOI. 

And thus, if words of holy cheer 

On mourning spirits lie 
With lifeless weight, while home looks drear, 

And Heaven no longer nigh — 
Covering, as with a cold white mask. 
Thoughts that for vanished love- warmth ask. 



Yet through their force, the winter fled, 
Fresh buds of joy and trust, 

And vivid green of praise, may spread 
Above that snow-bound crust ; 

For Christ to weariest heart can bring 

Treasures of sunlight, love and Spring. 



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